She Dealt Her Pretty Words Like Blades


She dealt her pretty words like Blades—
How glittering they shone—
And every One unbared a Nerve
Or wantoned with a Bone—

She never deemed—she hurt—
That—is not Steel's Affair—
A vulgar grimace in the Flesh—
How ill the Creatures bear—

To Ache is human—not polite—
The Film upon the eye
Mortality's old Custom—
Just locking up—to Die.

by Emily Dickinson

Comments (3)

Dashes do not to justice to Dickinsons masterfullisity...
It's a wonderful poem (and dash) but the computer voice is a travesty and an insult to poetry (and dash) the voice is dead, and the pronunciations (and dash) unbarred a nerve? gri MACE? this is a disservice to anyone who has to depend on an oral presentation of the poem. interesting write cuts very deep....