Emily Dickinson

She Dealt Her Pretty Words Like Blades

poem 479

She dealt her pretty words like Blades How glittering they shone And every One unbared a Nerve Or wantoned with a Bone She never deemed she hurt That is not Steel’s Affair A vulgar grimace in the Flesh How ill the Creatures bear To Ache is human not polite The Film upon the eye Mortality’s old Custom Just locking up to Die.

Don't have an account?

You will be identified by the alias - name will be hidden
user