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. Contrast
2. The Nearest Dream Recedes, Unrealized
3. This Merit Hath the Worst
4. Who Robbed the Woods
5. Going to Heaven!

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