POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON
This traverse may the poorest take Without oppress of toll;How frugal is the chariot That bears a human soul!
C
WHO has not found the heaven below Will fail of it above.God’s residence is next to mine, His furniture is love.
CI
A FACE devoid of love or grace,A hateful, hard, successful face, A face with which a stoneWould feel as thoroughly at easeAs were they old acquaintances,— First time together thrown.
CII
I HAD a guinea golden; I lost it in the sand,And though the sum was simple, And pounds were in the land,Still had it such a value Unto my frugal eye,That when I could not find it I sat me down to sigh.
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