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Poemsby Emily Dickinson

XLVI
Desire

XLVII

What soft, cherubic creatures
  These gentlewomen are!
One would as soon assault a plush
  Or violate a star.
Such dimity convictions,
  A horror so refined
Of freckled human nature,
  Of Deity ashamed, —
It's such a common glory,
  A fisherman's degree!
Redemption, brittle lady,
  Be so, ashamed of thee.