POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON
Power is only pain,Stranded, through discipline,Till weights will hang.Give balm to giants,And they’ll wilt, like men.Give Himmaleh,—They’ll carry him!
XXXVI
I NEVER hear the word "escape"Without a quicker blood,A sudden expectation,A flying attitude.
I never hear of prisons broadBy soldiers battered down,But I tug childish at my bars —Only to fail again!
XXXVII
FOR each ecstatic instantWe must an anguish payIn keen and quivering ratioTo the ecstasy.
For each beloved hourSharp pittances of years,Bitter contested farthingsAnd coffers heaped with tears.
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