POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON
Power is only pain,
Stranded, through discipline,
Till weights will hang.
Give balm to giants,
And they’ll wilt, like men.
Give Himmaleh,—
They’ll carry him!
Stranded, through discipline,
Till weights will hang.
Give balm to giants,
And they’ll wilt, like men.
Give Himmaleh,—
They’ll carry him!
XXXVI
I NEVER hear the word "escape"
Without a quicker blood,
A sudden expectation,
A flying attitude.
Without a quicker blood,
A sudden expectation,
A flying attitude.
I never hear of prisons broad
By soldiers battered down,
But I tug childish at my bars —
Only to fail again!
By soldiers battered down,
But I tug childish at my bars —
Only to fail again!
XXXVII
FOR each ecstatic instant
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ratio
To the ecstasy.
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ratio
To the ecstasy.
For each beloved hour
Sharp pittances of years,
Bitter contested farthings
And coffers heaped with tears.
Sharp pittances of years,
Bitter contested farthings
And coffers heaped with tears.
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