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My Portion is Defeat—today—
A paler luck than Victory—
Less Paeans—fewer Bells—
The Drums don't follow Me—with tunes—
Defeat—a somewhat slower—means—
More Arduous than Balls—
'Tis populous with Bone and stain—
And Men too straight to stoop again—,
And Piles of solid Moan—
And Chips of Blank—in Boyish Eyes—
And scraps of Prayer—
And Death's surprise,
Stamped visible—in Stone—
There's somewhat prouder, over there—
The Trumpets tell it to the Air—
How different Victory
To Him who has it—and the One
Who to have had it, would have been
Contender—to die—
Back to Emily Dickinson
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Comments2Read this when I was young, kinda gave me the chills then. Still does. Anyone else feel like it's kinda about war, or am I off base?
Emily Dickinson's work always manages to touch my soul. Her eloquent portrayal of sentiments that are hard to express is absolutely masterful. This particular poem, with its exploration of defeat, victory, and death, has left a deep imprint on me. The way she juxtaposes emotions against each and captures life’s truths is simply phenomenal. Her raw honesty is both startling and comforting. This is definitely one of my favourites.