Emily Dickinson

As Far From Pity, As Complaint

poem 496

As far from pity, as complaint As cool to speech as stone As numb to Revelation As if my Trade were Bone As far from time as History As near yourself Today As Children, to the Rainbow’s scarf Or Sunset’s Yellow play To eyelids in the Sepulchre How dumb the Dancer lies While Color’s Revelations break And blaze the Butterflies!

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