POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON
CVIII
IF recollecting were forgetting, Then I remember not;And if forgetting, recollecting, How near I had forgot!And if to miss were merry, And if to mourn were gay,How very blithe the fingers That gathered these to-day!
CIX
THE farthest thunder that I heard Was nearer than the sky,And rumbles still, though torrid noons Have lain their missiles by.The lightning that preceded it Struck no one but myself,But I would not exchange the bolt For all the rest of life.Indebtedness to oxygen The chemist may repay,But not the obligation To electricity.It founds the homes and decks the days, And every clamor brightIs but the gleam concomitant Of that waylaying light.
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