Emily Dickinson

There Is A Word

poem 8

There is a word Which bears a sword Can pierce an armed man It hurls its barbed syllables And is mute again But where it fell The saved will tell On patriotic day, Some epauletted Brother Gave his breath away. Wherever runs the breathless sun Wherever roams the day There is its noiseless onset There is its victory! Behold the keenest marksman! The most accomplished shot! Time’s sublimest target Is a soul forgot!

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