POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON
XC
TO venerate the simple daysWhich lead the seasons by,Needs but to remember That from you or meThey may take the trifle Termed mortality!
To invest existence with a stately air,Needs but to remember That the acorn thereIs the egg of forests For the upper air!
XCI
IT’S such a little thing to weep, So short a thing to sigh;And yet by trades the size of these We men and women die!
XCII
DROWNING is not so pitiful As the attempt to rise.Three times, ’t is said, a sinking man Comes up to face the skies,And then declines forever To that abhorred abode
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