Emily Dickinson

If Your Nerve, Deny You

292
 
If your Nerve, deny you—
Go above your Nerve—
He can lean against the Grave,
If he fear to swerve—
 
That’s a steady posture—
Never any bend
Held of those Brass arms—
Best Giant made—
 
If your Soul seesaw—
Lift the Flesh door—
The Poltroon wants Oxygen—
Nothing more—
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