Author Emily Dickinson 708 I sometimes drop it, for a Quick— The Thought to be alive— Anonymous Delight to know— And Madder—to conceive— Consoles a Woe so monstrous That did it tear all Day, Without an instant's Respite— 'Twould look too far—to Die— Tags sometimes Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments