Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Compensation

For each ecstatic instant
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ratio
To the ecstasy.

For each beloved hour
Sharp pittances of years —
Bitter contested farthings —
And Coffers heaped with Tears!

1. What Inn Is This
2. It Was Not Death, for I Stood up
3. A Throe upon the Features
4. Till the End
5. Some, Too Fragile for Winter Winds

Sara Teasdale Compensation ("I should be glad of loneliness")

Print

2202 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version