Author Emily Dickinson 940 On that dear Frame the Years had worn Yet precious as the House In which We first experienced Light The Witnessing, to Us— Precious! It was conceiveless fair As Hands the Grave had grimed Should softly place within our own Denying that they died. Tags house light Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments