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There is a Languor of the Life
More imminent than Pain-
'Tis Pain's Successor-When the Soul
Has suffered all it can-
A Drowsiness-diffuses-
A Dimness like a Fog
Envelops Consciousness-
As Mists-obliterate a Crag.
The Surgeon-does not blanch-at pain
His Habit-is severe-
But tell him that it ceased to feel-
The Creature lying there-
And he will tell you-skill is late-
A Mightier than He-
Has ministered before Him-
There's no Vitality.
There Is A Languor Of The Life
Emily Dickinson
(1)
Poem topics: feel, fog, life, soul, severe, creature, I love you, I miss you, pain, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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