This Merit hath the worst —
by Emily Dickinson (1830–1886)
This Merit hath the worst —
It cannot be again —
When Fate hath taunted last
And thrown Her furthest Stone —
The Maimed may pause, and breathe,
And glance securely round —
The Deer attracts no further
Than it resists — the Hound —
More poems by Emily Dickinson
-
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 →