Proud of my broken heart,
since thou didst break it.
Proud of the pain,
I did not feel?
till thee.
Proud of my night,
since thou, with moons,
dos't shake it.
Not to partake thy passion,
-my humility
- Sad Love Poems
by Emily Dickinson
After great pain, a formal feeling comes.
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs.
- Emily Dickinson
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
ROMANTIC
