One Anguish—in a Crowd Emily Dickinson

565

One Anguish—in a Crowd
A Minor thing—it sounds
And yet, unto the single Doe
Attempted of the Hounds

'Tis Terror as consummate
As Legions of Alarm
Did leap, full flanked, upon the Host
'Tis Units—make the Swarm

A Small Leech—on the Vitals
The sliver, in the Lung
The Bung out—of an Artery
Are scarce accounted—Harms

Yet might—by relation
To that Repealless thing
A Being—impotent to end
When once it has begun