POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON
CXXVIII
THE past is such a curious creature,
To look her in the face
A transport may reward us,
Or a disgrace.
To look her in the face
A transport may reward us,
Or a disgrace.
Unarmed if any meet her,
I charge him, fly!
Her rusty ammunition
Might yet reply!
I charge him, fly!
Her rusty ammunition
Might yet reply!
CXXIX
TO help our bleaker parts
Salubrious hours are given,
Which if they do not fit for earth
Drill silently for heaven.
Salubrious hours are given,
Which if they do not fit for earth
Drill silently for heaven.
CXXX
WHAT soft, cherubic creatures
These gentlewomen are!
One would as soon assault a plush
Or violate a star.
These gentlewomen are!
One would as soon assault a plush
Or violate a star.
Such dimity convictions,
A horror so refined
Of freckled human nature,
Of Deity ashamed,—
A horror so refined
Of freckled human nature,
Of Deity ashamed,—
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