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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=385802" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=385802" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">443</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=385802" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl—<br>Life's little duties do—precisely—<br>As the very least<br>Were infinite—to me—</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=385802" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I put new Blossoms in the Glass—<br>And throw the old—away—<br>I push a petal from my gown<br>That anchored there—I weigh<br>The time 'twill be till six o'clock<br>I have so much to do—<br>And yet—Existence—some way back—<br>Stopped—struck—my tickling—through—<br>We cannot put Ourself away<br>As a completed Man<br>Or Woman—When the Errand's done<br>We came to Flesh—upon—<br>There may be—Miles on Miles of Nought—<br>Of Action—sicker far—<br>To simulate—is stinging work—<br>To cover what we are<br>From Science—and from Surgery—<br>Too Telescopic Eyes<br>To bear on us unshaded—<br>For their—sake—not for Ours—<br>'Twould start them—<br>We—could tremble—<br>But since we got a Bomb—<br>And held it in our Bosom—<br>Nay—Hold it—it is calm—</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=385802" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Therefore—we do life's labor—<br>Though life's Reward—be done—<br>With scrupulous exactness—<br>To hold our Senses—on—</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Emily+Dickinson">Emily Dickinson</a></strong></div>