I breathed enough to take the Trick —
And now, removed from Air —
I simulate the Breath, so well —
That One, to be quite sure —
The Lungs are stirless — must descend
Among the Cunning Cells —
And touch the Pantomine — Himself,
How numb, the Bellows feels!
(Emily Dickinson)
More Poetry from Emily Dickinson:
- Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine (Emily Dickinson Poems)
- Sic transit gloria mundi (Emily Dickinson Poems)
- I cannot live with You (Emily Dickinson Poems)
- The Wind begun to knead the Grass (Emily Dickinson Poems)
- One Year ago-jots what? (Emily Dickinson Poems)
- Your Riches - taugh (Emily Dickinson Poems)