Why make it doubt -- it hurts it so --
So sick -- to guess --
So strong -- to know --
So brave -- upon its little Bed
To tell the very last They said
Unto Itself -- and smile -- And shake --
For that dear -- distant -- dangerous -- Sake --
But -- the Instead -- the Pinching fear
That Something -- it did do -- or dare --
Offend the Vision -- and it flee --
And They no more remember me --
Nor ever turn to tell me why --
Oh, Master, This is Misery --

Poet: Emily Dickinson
Poem: 462. Why make it doubt -- it hurts it so
Volume: Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson
Year: Published/Written in 1955
Poem of the Day: Jan 24 2005

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