XXI.
He ate and drank the precious words,
His spirit grew robust;
He knew no more that he was poor,
Only that his frame was rust.
He was a car.
A dead car.
Tag: Death
XXI. Not in This World to See His Face
…sounds long, but wait until you hear this…
XX. The Last Night That She Lived
…it was a common night, except for the ghosts…
XVIII. There Is A Silly Goofiness
XVIII.
There is a silly Goofiness
That many die without,
Not feeling great that moment,
’Cause dying sucks a lot.
But nature sometimes, sometimes thought,
That whoso it befall
Laughs more than could be divulged
By banal folderol.
—
Dickinson’s final draft.
XIX. To Know Just How She Suffered Would Be Dear
She really deserved it.
XVIII. God Permits Industrious Basilisks
…afternoons to play…
XVI. The Clouds Their Backs Together Laid
XVI.
The clouds their backs together laid,
The north begun to push,
The forests galloped till they fell,
The lightning skipped like mice;
The thunder crumbled like a stuff—
How nice I have a gnome cave,
Where nature’s temper cannot reach,
Nor bigger people ever come!
—
The graver original.
