Emily Dickinson

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

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

599

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.


Comments about There Is A Pain—so Utter by Emily Dickinson

  • (3/16/2018 3:39:00 PM)


    Sing this to the tune of the Bach chorale, O sacred head, now wounded. (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: memory, pain



Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004



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