Emily Dickinson

'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!