POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON
XC
TO venerate the simple days
Which lead the seasons by,
Needs but to remember
That from you or me
They may take the trifle
Termed mortality!
Which lead the seasons by,
Needs but to remember
That from you or me
They may take the trifle
Termed mortality!
To invest existence with a stately air,
Needs but to remember
That the acorn there
Is the egg of forests
For the upper air!
Needs but to remember
That the acorn there
Is the egg of forests
For the upper air!
XCI
IT’S such a little thing to weep,
So short a thing to sigh;
And yet by trades the size of these
We men and women die!
So short a thing to sigh;
And yet by trades the size of these
We men and women die!
XCII
DROWNING is not so pitiful
As the attempt to rise.
Three times, ’t is said, a sinking man
Comes up to face the skies,
And then declines forever
To that abhorred abode
As the attempt to rise.
Three times, ’t is said, a sinking man
Comes up to face the skies,
And then declines forever
To that abhorred abode
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