Page:The complete poems of Emily Dickinson, (IA completepoemsofe00dick 1).pdf/59

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LIFE

Remorse is cureless,—the disease
Not even God can heal;
For’t is His institution,—
The complement of hell.


LXX

THE body grows outside,—
The more convenient way,—
That if the spirit like to hide,
Its temple stands alway

Ajar, secure, inviting;
It never did betray
The soul that asked its shelter
In timid honesty.


LXXI

UNDUE significance a starving man attaches
To food
Far off; he sighs, and therefore hopeless,
And therefore good.

Partaken, it relieves indeed, but proves us
That spices fly
In the receipt. It was the distance
Was savory.

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