Poemsby Emily Dickinson

Remorse

 Remorse is memory awake, Her companies astir, - A presence of departed acts At window and at door. 
 It's past set down before the soul, And lighted with a match, Perusal to facilitate Of its condensed despatch. 
 Remorse is cureless, - the disease Not even God can heal; For 't is his institution, - The complement of hell.