POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON
It then goes out an act,
Or is entombed so still
That only to the ear of God
Its doom is audible.
Or is entombed so still
That only to the ear of God
Its doom is audible.
LXVIII
MINE enemy is growing old,—
I have at last revenge.
The palate of the hate departs;
If any would avenge,—
I have at last revenge.
The palate of the hate departs;
If any would avenge,—
Let him be quick, the viand flits,
It is a faded meat.
Anger as soon as fed is dead;
’T is starving makes it fat.
It is a faded meat.
Anger as soon as fed is dead;
’T is starving makes it fat.
LXIX
REMORSE is memory awake,
Her companies astir,—
A presence of departed acts
At window and at door.
Her companies astir,—
A presence of departed acts
At window and at door.
Its past set down before the soul,
And lighted with a match,
Perusal to facilitate
Of its condensed despatch.
And lighted with a match,
Perusal to facilitate
Of its condensed despatch.
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