Emily Dickinson

Life is but life, and death but death!

Bliss is but bliss, and breath but breath!

And if, indeed, I fail,

At least to know the worst is sweet.

Defeat means nothing but defeat,

No drearier can prevail!

IF I can stop one heart from breaking,

I shall not live in vain;

If I can ease one life the aching,

Or cool one pain,

Or help one fainting robin

Unto his nest again,

I shall not live in vain.

A wounded deer leaps highest,

I’ve heard the hunter tell;

’T is but the ecstasy of death,

And then the brake2 is still.

The smitten rock that gushes,

The trampled steel that springs:

A cheek is always redder

Just where the hectic3 stings!

Mirth is the mail of anguish,

In which it caution arm,

Lest anybody spy the blood

And “You’re hurt” exclaim!