Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Remorse

Remorse is memory awake,
Her companies astir, --
A presence of departed acts
At window and at door.

It's past set down before the soul,
And lighted with a match,
Perusal to facilitate
Of its condensed despatch.

Remorse is cureless, -- the disease
Not even God can heal;
For 't is his institution, --
The complement of hell.

1. What Soft, Cherubic Creatures
2. Desire
3. Power
4. Is Bliss, Then, Such Abyss
5. Thanksgiving Day

Robert Burns Remorse ("Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace") 1783

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