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'Tis Anguish grander than Delight
'Tis Resurrection Pain—
The meeting Bands of smitten Face
We questioned to, again.
'Tis Transport wild as thrills the Graves
When Cerements let go
And Creatures clad in Miracle
Go up by Two and Two.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Low At My Problem Bending
- I Sometimes Drop It, For A Quick
- They Ask But Our Delight
- Of Tribulation, These Are They
- Kill Your Balm—and Its Odors Bless You