I Have Never Seen 'volcanoes'
Emily Dickinson
175 I have never seen “Volcanoes”— But, when Travellers tell How those old—phlegmatic mountains Usually so still— Bear within—appalling Ordnance, Fire, and smoke, and gun, Taking Villages for breakfast, And appalling Men— If the stillness is Volcanic In the human face When upon a pain Titanic Features keep their place— If at length the smouldering anguish Will not overcome— And the palpitating Vineyard In the dust, be thrown? If some loving Antiquary, On Resumption Morn, Will not cry with joy “Pompeii”! To the Hills return!
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