Struck, Was I, Not Yet By Lightning
Emily Dickinson
925 Struck, was I, not yet by Lightning— Lightning—lets away Power to perceive His Process With Vitality. Maimed—was I—yet not by Venture— Stone of stolid Boy— Nor a Sportsman’s Peradventure— Who mine Enemy? Robbed—was I—intact to Bandit— All my Mansion torn— Sun—withdrawn to Recognition— Furthest shining—done— Yet was not the foe—of any— Not the smallest Bird In the nearest Orchard dwelling Be of Me—afraid. Most—I love the Cause that slew Me. Often as I die Its beloved Recognition Holds a Sun on Me— Best—at Setting—as is Nature’s— Neither witnessed Rise Till the infinite Aurora In the other’s eyes.
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