Poem 6 (J 281: 1861/1935)

Poem 6 (J 281: 1861/1935) Emily Dickinson

Fascicle 16: Dickinson's variants and published versions

1606

ORIGINAL POEMS Emily Dickinson Final Harvest: Emily Dickinson's Poems Emily Dickinson Thomas H. Johnson Boston Little, Brown and Company 1961

Poem 6 (J 281: 1861/1935) 'Tis so appalling—it Exhilarates— exhilarates— So over Horror, it dumb fascinates— it half Captivates— The Soul stares after it, secure— To know the worst, leaves no dread more— A Sepulchre, fears frost, no more— To scan a Ghost, is faint— But grappling, Conquers conquers it— How easy, Torment, now— Suspense kept sawing so— The Truth, is Bald — , and Cold— But that will hold— If any are not sure— We show them—prayer— But we, who know, Stop hoping, now— Looking at Death, is Dying— Just let go the Breath— And not the pillow at your Cheek So Slumbereth— Others, Can wrestle— Yours, is done— And so of Wo Woe , bleak dreaded— Come come , It sets the Fright at liberty— And Terror's free— Gay, Ghastly, Holiday!