Read more poems by Emily Dickinson: Emily Dickinson Poems at Poetry X.
565 One Anguish—in a Crowd— A Minor thing—it sounds— And yet, unto the single Doe Attempted of the Hounds 'Tis Terror as consummate As Legions of Alarm Did leap, full flanked, upon the Host— 'Tis Units—make the Swarm— A Small Leech—on the Vitals— The sliver, in the Lung— The Bung out—of an Artery— Are scarce accounted—Harms— Yet might—by relation To that Repealless thing— A Being—impotent to end— When once it has begun—
Added: 2 Sep 2002 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 5:29 PM | Viewed: 7579 times
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Emily Dickinson
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