Emily Dickinson Poem

Bound—a trouble

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Bound—a trouble—

And lives can bear it!

Limit—how deep a bleeding go!

So—many—drops—of vital scarlet—

Deal with the soul

As with Algebra!

 

Tell it the Ages—to a cypher—

And it will ache—contented—on—

Sing—at its pain—as any Workman—

Notching the fall of the Even Sun!

Bring me the sunset in a cup
Bloom upon the Mountain—stated

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