POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON
Surfeit? When the daffodilDoth of the dew:Even as herself, O friend!I will of you!
IV
ELYSIUM is as far as toThe very nearest room,If in that room a friend awaitFelicity or doom.
What fortitude the soul contains,That it can so endureThe accent of a coming foot.The opening of a door!
V
DOUBT me, my dim companion!Why, God would be contentWith but a fraction of the lovePoured thee without a stint.The whole of me, forever,What more the woman can,—Say quick, that I may dower theeWith last delight I own!
It cannot be my spirit,For that was thine before;I ceded all of dust I knew,—What opulence the more
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