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Why make it doubt-it hurts it so-
So sick-to guess-
So strong-to know-
So brave-upon its little Bed
To tell the very last They said
Unto Itself-and smile-And shake-
For that dear-distant-dangerous-Sake-
But-the Instead-the Pinching fear
That Something-it did do-or dare-
Offend the Vision-and it flee-
And They no more remember me-
Nor ever turn to tell me why-
Oh, Master, This is Misery-
(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)