XXI. A BOOK.
HE ate and drank the precious words,
His spirit grew robust;
He knew no more that he was poor,
Nor that his frame was dust.
He danced along the dingy days,
And this bequest of wings
Was but a book. What liberty
A loosened spirit brings!
|from Poems by Emily Dickinson (1890)|
|"I taste a liquor never brewed"||"I had no time to hate, because"|