I lived on dread; to those who know
The stimulus there is
In danger, other impetus
Is numb and vital-less.
As't were a spur upon the soul,
A fear will urge it where
To go without the spectre's aid
Were challenging despair.
I lived on dread; to those who know
The stimulus there is
In danger, other impetus
Is numb and vital-less.
As't were a spur upon the soul,
A fear will urge it where
To go without the spectre's aid
Were challenging despair.
© Emily Dickinson