In Many And Reportless Places
Emily Dickinson
1382 In many and reportless places We feel a Joy— Reportless, also, but sincere as Nature Or Deity— It comes, without a consternation— Dissolves—the same— But leaves a sumptuous Destitution— Without a Name— Profane it by a search—we cannot It has no home— Nor we who having once inhaled it— Thereafter roam.
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