Emily Dickinson

It Might Be Lonelier

poem 405

It might be lonelier Without the Loneliness I’m so accustomed to my Fate Perhaps the Other Peace Would interrupt the Dark And crowd the little Room Too scant by Cubits to contain The Sacrament of Him I am not used to Hope It might intrude upon Its sweet parade blaspheme the place Ordained to Suffering It might be easier To fail with Land in Sight Than gain My Blue Peninsula To perish of Delight

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