Emily Dickinson Poems

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If your Nerve, deny you --
Go above your Nerve --
He can lean against the Grave,
If he fear to swerve --

That's a steady posture --
Never any bend
Held of those Brass arms --
Best Giant made --

If your Soul seesaw --
Lift the Flesh door --
The Poltroon wants Oxygen --
Nothing more --

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