Friday, December 10, 2004

# 479

She dealt her pretty words like Blades—
How glittering they shone—
And every One unbared a Nerve
Or wantoned with a Bone—

She never deemed—she hurt—
That—is not Steel's Affair—
A vulgar grimace in the Flesh—
How ill the Creatures bear—

To Ache is human—not polite—
The Film upon the eye
Mortality's old Custom—
Just locking up—to Die.

Emily Dickinson


At 11:04 PM, Blogger Nyarly said...

You would like the Digital Electronic Archive -- all kinds of stuff on Dickinson. Some of it may be password-protected, but I think the critical articles largely are not, and they have digital copies of some of Dickinson's manuscripts -- pretty cool.

The address is: http//

At 8:51 AM, Blogger Andygrrl said...

Oh wow! Thanks!


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