Emily Dickinson

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

There Is A Pain—so Utter - Poem by Emily Dickinson

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There is a pain—so utter—
It swallows substance up—
Then covers the Abyss with Trance—
So Memory can step
Around—across—upon it—
As one within a Swoon—
Goes safely—where an open eye—
Would drop Him—Bone by Bone.


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Read poems about / on: memory, pain



Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004



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