Friday, 7 August 2009

The heart asks pleasure first...and then...

I didn't know this was a poem. A very sad poem.

The heart asks pleasure first, 
And then, excuse from pain; 
And then, those little anodynes 
That deaden suffering;  

And then, to go to sleep; 
And then, if it should be 
The will of its Inquisitor, 
The liberty to die.  

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) P.1890