The Heart asks Pleasure — first —
by Emily Dickinson (1830–1886) English
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.
More poems by Emily Dickinson
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Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves— …
-
There is a pain — so utter —
It swallows substance up —
Then covers the Abyss with Trance — …
-
A charm invests a face
Imperfectly beheld.
The lady dare not lift her veil …
-
There came a Wind like a Bugle —
It quivered through the Grass
And a Green Chill upon the Heat …
All poems by Emily Dickinson →