Poem

The Truth—is stirless

Emily Dickinson
780 The Truth—is stirless— Other force—may be presumed to move— This—then—is best for confidence— When oldest Cedars swerve— And Oaks untwist their fists— And Mountains—feeble—lean— How excellent a Body, that Stands without a Bone— How vigorous a Force That holds without a Prop— Truth stays Herself—and every man That trusts Her—boldly up—

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