If He Were Living-dare I Ask
Emily Dickinson
734 If He were living—dare I ask— And how if He be dead— And so around the Words I went— Of meeting them—afraid— I hinted Changes—Lapse of Time— The Surfaces of Years— I touched with Caution—lest they crack— And show me to my fears— Reverted to adjoining Lives— Adroitly turning out Wherever I suspected Graves— ’Twas prudenter—I thought— And He—I pushed—with sudden force— In face of the Suspense— “Was buried”—”Buried”! “He!” My Life just holds the Trench—
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