Emily Dickinson: 2 poems

Emily Dickinson

(1830-1886)

 

The heart asks pleasure first

 

The heart asks pleasure first,

And then, excuse from pain;

And then, those little anodynes

That deaden suffering;

 

And then, to go to sleep;

And then, if it should be

The will of its Inquisitor,

The liberty to die.

 

 

The mystery of Pain

 

Pain has an element of blank;

It cannot recollect

When it began, or if there were

A day when it was not.

 

It has no future but itself,

Its infinite realms contain

Its past, enlightened to perceive

New periods of pain.

 

 

Emily Dickinson poetry

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