Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

* * *

The heart asks pleasure first,
And then, excuse from pain;
And then, those little anodynes
That deaden suffering;

And then, to go to sleep;
And then, if it should be
The will of its Inquisitor,
The liberty to die.

1. The Wife
2. Rouge Gagne
3. The Book of Martyrs
4. Whether My Bark Went Down at Sea
5. Belshazzar Had a Letter

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