Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

A Syllable

Could mortal lip divine
  The undeveloped freight
Of a delivered syllable,
  'T would crumble with the weight.

1. If the Foolish Call Them
2. Life's Trades
3. How Still the Bells in Steeples Stand
4. Unto My Books So Good to Turn
5. Forbidden Fruit. II

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