Page:Emily Dickinson Poems - second series (1891).djvu/80

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EMORSE is memory awake, Her companies astir,— A presence of departed acts At window and at door.

It's past set down before the soul, And lighted with a match, Perusal to facilitate Of its condensed despatch.

Remorse is cureless,— the disease Not even God can heal; For 't is his institution,— The complement of hell.