Read more poems by Emily Dickinson: Emily Dickinson Poems at Poetry X.
479 She dealt her pretty words like Blades— How glittering they shone— And every One unbared a Nerve Or wantoned with a Bone— She never deemed—she hurt— That—is not Steel's Affair— A vulgar grimace in the Flesh— How ill the Creatures bear— To Ache is human—not polite— The Film upon the eye Mortality's old Custom— Just locking up—to Die.
Added: 19 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 20 Nov 2008 4:36 PM | Viewed: 7383 times
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