More Life-went Out-when He Went
Emily Dickinson
422 More Life—went out—when He went Than Ordinary Breath— Lit with a finer Phosphor— Requiring in the Quench— A Power of Renowned Cold, The Climate of the Grave A Temperature just adequate So Anthracite, to live— For some—an Ampler Zero— A Frost more needle keen Is necessary, to reduce The Ethiop within. Others—extinguish easier— A Gnat’s minutest Fan Sufficient to obliterate A Tract of Citizen— Whose Peat lift—amply vivid— Ignores the solemn News That Popocatapel exists— Or Etna’s Scarlets, Choose—
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