English poetry

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‘Tis so appalling it exhilarates

‘Tis so appalling it exhilarates
So over Horror, it half Captivates
The Soul stares after it, secure
A Sepulchre, fears frost, no more

To scan a Ghost, is faint
But grappling, conquers it
How easy, Torment, now
Suspense kept sawing so

The Truth, is Bald, and Cold
But that will hold
If any are not sure
We show them prayer
But we, who know,
Stop hoping, now

Looking at Death, is Dying
Just let go the Breath
And not the pillow at your Cheek
So Slumbereth

Others, Can wrestle
Yours, is done
And so of Woe, bleak dreaded come,
It sets the Fright at liberty
And Terror’s free
Gay, Ghastly, Holiday!

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Poem ‘Tis so appalling it exhilarates - Emily Dickinson