|
|
Real.
By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
I like a look of agony,
Because I know it's true;
Men do not sham convulsion,
Nor simulate a throe.
The eyes glaze once, and that is death.
Impossible to feign
The beads upon the forehead
By homely anguish strung.
Extra Info:
|
|
Printable Page
Add Your Thoughts on this poem.
This page viewed 498 times.
|
|