POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON
XCIV
HOW dare the robins sing,When men and women hearWho since they went to their account Have settled with the year!——Paid all that life had earned In one consummate bill,And now, what life or death can do Is immaterial.Insulting is the sun To him whose mortal light,Beguiled of immortality, Bequeaths him to the night.In deference to him Extinct be every hum,Whose garden wrestles with the dew. At daybreak overcome!
XCV
DEATH is like the insectMenacing the tree.Competent to kill it, But decoyed may be.
Bait it with the balsam, Seek it with the knife,Baffle, if it cost you Everything in life.
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