The soul unto itself
The soul unto itself / Is an imperial friend, --
A death-blow is a life-blow to some
❦
A death-blow is a life-blow to some
Who, till they died, did not alive become;
Who, had they lived, had died, but when
They died, vitality begun.
More poems by Emily Dickinson
APRIL - An altered look about the hills
An altered look about the hills; / A Tyrian light the village fills;
THE WIND - It's like the light
It's like the light, -- / A fashionless delight
TOO LATE - Delayed till she had ceased to know
Delayed till she had ceased to know, / Delayed till in its vest of snow