Poemsby Emily Dickinson

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.