POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON
LXXXIII
THIS world is not conclusion; A sequel stands beyond,Invisible, as music, But positive, as sound.It beckons and it baffles; Philosophies don’t know,And through a riddle, at the last, Sagacity must go.To guess it puzzles scholars; To gain it, men have shownContempt of generations, And crucifixion known.
LXXXIV
WE learn in the retreatingHow vast an oneWas recently among us. A perished sun
Endears in the departure How doubly moreThan all the golden presence It was before!
LXXXV
THEY say that “time assuages”,—Time never did assuage;An actual suffering strengthens. As sinews do, with age.
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