Emily Dickinson (10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)
Struck, was I, not yet by Lightning
Struck, was I, not yet by Lightning—
Power to perceive His Process
Maimed—was I—yet not by Venture—
Stone of stolid Boy—
Nor a Sportsman's Peradventure—
Who mine Enemy?
Robbed—was I—intact to Bandit—
All my Mansion torn—
Sun—withdrawn to Recognition—
Yet was not the foe—of any—
Not the smallest Bird
In the nearest Orchard dwelling
Be of Me—afraid.
Most—I love the Cause that slew Me.
Often as I die
Its beloved Recognition
Holds a Sun on Me—
Best—at Setting—as is Nature's—
Neither witnessed Rise
Till the infinite Aurora
In the other's eyes.
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