Emily Dickinson (10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)
'Tis true—They shut me in the Cold
'Tis true—They shut me in the Cold—
But then—Themselves were warm
And could not know the feeling 'twas—
Forget it—Lord—of Them—
Let not my Witness hinder Them
In Heavenly esteem—
No Paradise could be—Conferred
Through Their beloved Blame—
The Harm They did—was short—And since
Myself—who bore it—do—
Forgive Them—Even as Myself—
Or else—forgive not me—
Poet Other Poems
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- "Houses"—so the Wise Men tell me
- "I want"—it pleaded—All its ...
- "Morning"—means "Milking"—to...
- "Nature" is what we see
- "Unto Me?" I do not know you
- "Why do I love" You, Sir?
- A Bird Came Down
- A Book
- A Burdock—clawed my Gown
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