Emily Dickinson

(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)

There Is A Languor Of The Life - Poem by Emily Dickinson


There is a Languor of the Life
More imminent than Pain—
'Tis Pain's Successor—When the Soul
Has suffered all it can—

A Drowsiness—diffuses—
A Dimness like a Fog
Envelops Consciousness—
As Mists—obliterate a Crag.

The Surgeon—does not blanch—at pain
His Habit—is severe—
But tell him that it ceased to feel—
The Creature lying there—

And he will tell you—skill is late—
A Mightier than He—
Has ministered before Him—
There's no Vitality.

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Read poems about / on: fog, pain, life

Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

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