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Read more poems by Emily Dickinson: Emily Dickinson Poems at Poetry X.

292

If your Nerve, deny you—
Go above your Nerve—
He can lean against the Grave,
If he fear to swerve—

That's a steady posture—
Never any bend
Held of those Brass arms—
Best Giant made—

If your Soul seesaw—
Lift the Flesh door—
The Poltroon wants Oxygen—
Nothing more—

Added: 19 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 7 Oct 2008 10:14 PM | Viewed: 4871 times

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