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A little bread—a crust—a crumb—
A little trust—a demijohn—
Can keep the soul alive—
Not portly, mind! but breathing—warm—
Conscious—as old Napoleon,
The night before the Crown!
A modest lot—A fame petite—
A brief Campaign of sting and sweet
Is plenty! Is enough!
A Sailor's business is the shore!
A Soldier's—balls! Who asketh more,
Must seek the neighboring life!
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- A Feather From The Whippoorwill
- Wild Nights! Wild Nights!
- I Never Saw A Moor
- A Long, Long Sleep, A Famous Sleep
- A Loss Of Something Ever Felt I