Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

* * *

Is bliss, then, such abyss
I must not put my foot amiss
For fear I spoil my shoe?

I'd rather suit my foot
Than save my boot,
For yet to buy another pair
Is possible
At any fair.

But bliss is sold just once;
The patent lost
None buy it any more.

1. Childish Griefs
2. What Soft, Cherubic Creatures
3. Desire
4. Power
5. Thanksgiving Day

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