The hearts asks for pleasure first,
And then, excuse from pain;
And then, those little anodynes
That deaden suffering.
And then, to go to sleep;
And then, if it should be
The will of its Inquisitor,
The liberty to die

Emily Dickenson is now a well-known author, yet during her lifetime she was  a recluse for nearly entire life.  She wrote hundreds of poems, full of hope and magic, and all while living in the same room of her parents house.  She lived from 1830 to 1886.

Return to Poetry Page