Читать книгу The Complete Poetry of Emily Dickinson - Эмили Дикинсон - Страница 170

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Mine enemy is growing old, —

I have at last revenge.

The palate of the hate departs;

If any would avenge, —

Let him be quick, the viand flits,

It is a faded meat.

Anger as soon as fed is dead;

'T is starving makes it fat.