Throe Upon The Features, A
by: Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886)
A throe upon the features --
A hurry in the breath --
An ecstasy of parting
Denominated "Death" --
An anguish at the mention
Which when to patience grown,
I've known permission given
To rejoin its own.
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Heart, We Will Forget Him
I Have No Life But This
I Held A Jewel
I Many Times Thought
You Left Me
'Tis Not That Dying Hurts Us So
I Went To Thank Her
I Should Not Dare To Leave My Friend
Awake Ye Muses Nine
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