One Anguish—in a Crowd—, by Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

One Anguish—in a Crowd—

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—

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Emily Dickinson