Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

The Mystery of Pain

Pain has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect
When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not.

It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.

1. A Shady Friend for Torrid Days
2. Portraits Are to Daily Faces
3. The Goal
4. Sight
5. The Butterfly's Assumption-Gown

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