A Counterfeit - a Plated Person -
I would not be -
Whatever strata of Iniquity
My Nature underlie -
Truth is good Health - and Safety, and the Sky.
How meagre, what an Exile - is a Lie,
And Vocal - when we die -
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- A chilly Peace infests the Grass
- Like Brooms of Steel
- How Lonesome The Wind Must Feel Nights -
- I am afraid to own a Body
- On That Dear Frame The Years Had Worn