I breathed enough to take the Trick—
And now, removed from Air—
I simulate the Breath, so well—
That One, to be quite sure—
The Lungs are stirless—must descend
Among the Cunning Cells—
And touch the Pantomine—Himself,
How numb, the Bellows feels!
Back to Emily Dickinson
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓
To be able to leave a comment here you must be registered. Log in or Sign up.