Emily Dickinson’s speaker recalls how, as a child, she wondered about “the Father and the Son” and what they had to do with her. Adults gave ominous, “portentous” explanations that horrified, yet she fortified herself by thinking they were no worse than described. As an adult, she still longs for a direct answer, sure that the divine figures could simply specify who they are. But then the mood shifts to regret: if she had known them happily back then, they might have been closer friends before time passed. Now belief chafes when it changes too often; it only fit entirely once. The closing lines blush with shame — if she ever reaches heaven, she’ll have shunned the miracle until she is embarrassed to admit it. What begins as a child’s open question becomes an adult’s quiet, awkward distance from faith, a feeling that belief just doesn’t fit the way it used to.
Who were "the Father and the Son" — Summary
Who were "the Father and the Son" We pondered when a child, And what had they to do with us And when portentous told
With inference appalling By Childhood fortified We thought, at least they are no worse Than they have been described.
Who are "the Father and the Son" Did we demand Today "The Father and the Son" himself Would doubtless specify --
But had they the felicity When we desired to know. We better Friends had been, perhaps, Than time ensue to be --
We start -- to learn that we believe But once -- entirely -- Belief, it does not fit so well When altered frequently --
We blush, that Heaven if we achieve -- Event ineffable -- We shall have shunned until ashamed To own the Miracle --