Monday, August 13, 2007

The Poetry of Emily Dickinson 1

XII

I LIKE a look of agony,
Because I know it ’s true;
Men do not sham convulsion,
Nor simulate a throe.

The eyes glaze once, and that is death.
Impossible to feign
The beads upon the forehead
By homely anguish strung
.



P.S.: Bears suck! tee hee.

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