Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Pain

PAIN--has an Element of Blank--
It cannot recollect
When it begun--or if there were
A time when it was not--

It has no Future--but itself--
Its Infinite Contain
Its Past--enlightened to perceive
New Periods--of Pain. 

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

Sara Teasdale Pain ("Waves are the sea's white daughters")

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