Page:Emily Dickinson Poems - third series (1896).djvu/77

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XLVIII.

DESIRE.

WHO never wanted,—maddest joy
Remains to him unknown;
The banquet of abstemiousness
Surpasses that of wine.

Within its hope, though yet ungrasped
Desire's perfect goal,
No nearer, lest reality
Should disenthrall thy soul.

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