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'Tis so appalling-it exhilarates-
So over Horror, it half Captivates-
The Soul stares after it, secure-
A Sepulchre, fears frost, no more-
To scan a Ghost, is faint-
But grappling, conquers it-
How easy, Torment, now-
Suspense kept sawing so-
The Truth, is Bald, and Cold-
But that will hold-
If any are not sure-
We show them-prayer-
But we, who know,
Stop hoping, now-
Looking at Death, is Dying-
Just let go the Breath-
And not the pillow at your Cheek
So Slumbereth-
Others, Can wrestle-
Yours, is done-
And so of Woe, bleak dreaded-come,
It sets the Fright at liberty-
And Terror's free-
Gay, Ghastly, Holiday!
Tis So Appalling'it Exhilarates
Emily Dickinson
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Poem topics: breath, death, truth, holiday, soul, frost, cold, ghost, easy, pillow, hold, prayer, secure, torment, horror, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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