Joy To Have Merited The Pain
Emily Dickinson
788 Joy to have merited the Pain— To merit the Release— Joy to have perished every step— To Compass Paradise— Pardon—to look upon thy face— With these old fashioned Eyes— Better than new—could be—for that— Though bought in Paradise— Because they looked on thee before— And thou hast looked on them— Prove Me—My Hazel Witnesses The features are the same— So fleet thou wert, when present— So infinite—when gone— An Orient’s Apparition— Remanded of the Morn— The Height I recollect— ’Twas even with the Hills— The Depth upon my Soul was notched— As Floods—on Whites of Wheels— To Haunt—till Time have dropped His last Decade away, And Haunting actualize—to last At least—Eternity—
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