Emily Dickinson

A Little Bread A Crust A Crumb

poem 159

A little bread a crust a crumb A little trust a demijohn Can keep the soul alive Not portly, mind! but breathing warm Conscious as old Napoleon, The night before the Crown! A modest lot A fame petite A brief Campaign of sting and sweet Is plenty! Is enough! A Sailor’s business is the shore! A Soldier’s balls! Who asketh more, Must seek the neighboring life!

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