CHOICE
Of all the souls that stand createI have elected one.When sense from spirit flies away,And subterfuge is done;When that which is and that which wasApart, intrinsic, stand,And this brief tragedy of fleshIs shifted like a sand;When figures show their royal frontAnd mists are carved away,—Behold the atom I preferredTo all the lists of clay!Emily Dickinson
Of all the souls that stand createI have elected one.When sense from spirit flies away,And subterfuge is done;When that which is and that which wasApart, intrinsic, stand,And this brief tragedy of fleshIs shifted like a sand;When figures show their royal frontAnd mists are carved away,—Behold the atom I preferredTo all the lists of clay!Emily Dickinson
Of all the souls that stand createI have elected one.When sense from spirit flies away,And subterfuge is done;
Of all the souls that stand create
I have elected one.
When sense from spirit flies away,
And subterfuge is done;
When that which is and that which wasApart, intrinsic, stand,And this brief tragedy of fleshIs shifted like a sand;
When that which is and that which was
Apart, intrinsic, stand,
And this brief tragedy of flesh
Is shifted like a sand;
When figures show their royal frontAnd mists are carved away,—Behold the atom I preferredTo all the lists of clay!
When figures show their royal front
And mists are carved away,—
Behold the atom I preferred
To all the lists of clay!
Emily Dickinson