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.

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