I Know That He Exists By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

 I know that he exists
    Somewhere, in silence.
    He has hid his rare life
    From our gross eyes.

    ‘T is an instant’s play,
    ‘T is a fond ambush,
    Just to make bliss
    Earn her own surprise!

    But should the play
    Prove piercing earnest,
    Should the glee glaze
    In death’s stiff stare,

    Would not the fun
    Look too expensive?
    Would not the jest
    Have crawled too far?