Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924. |
Part Three: Love
XLIV
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| THERE is a word | |
| Which bears a sword | |
| Can pierce an armed man. | |
| It hurls its barbed syllables,— | |
| At once is mute again. | 5 |
| But where it fell | |
| The saved will tell | |
| On patriotic day, | |
| Some epauletted brother | |
| Gave his breath away. | 10 |
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| Wherever runs the breathless sun, | |
| Wherever roams the day, | |
| There is its noiseless onset, | |
| There is its victory! | |
| Behold the keenest marksman! | 15 |
| The most accomplished shot! | |
| Time’s sublimest target | |
| Is a soul “forgot”! | |
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