Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

* * *

The heart asks pleasure first,
And then, excuse from pain;
And then, those little anodynes
That deaden suffering;

And then, to go to sleep;
And then, if it should be
The will of its Inquisitor,
The liberty to die.

1. Our Journey Had Advanced
2. We Learned the Whole of Love
3. Doom is the House without the Door
4. Should You but Fail at — Sea
5. I Send Two Sunsets

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