Emily Dickinson

One Anguish in A Crowd

poem 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

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