Poem

My Soul—accused me—And I quailed

Emily Dickinson
753 My Soul—accused me—And I quailed— As Tongue of Diamond had reviled All else accused me—and I smiled— My Soul—that Morning—was My friend— Her favor—is the best Disdain Toward Artifice of Time—or Men— But Her Disdain—'twere lighter bear A finger of Enamelled Fire—

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