Who would fardels bear?

                           When he himself might his quietus make

                                         With a bare bodkin?

Don't you remember, sweet Alice, Ben Bolt?
Sweet Alice with hair so brown,
Who blushed with delight if you gave her a smile,
And trembled with fear at your frown?
In the old church in the valley, Ben Bolt,
In a corner obscure and lone,
They have fitted a slab of granite so grey,
And Alice lies under the stones.

Who passeth here with closed lips,
near to where this body reposeth,
let him hear what I shall say, saying
only what I know.
Even as thou art so once was I:
and as I am so thou shalt be.

So proud she was to die
It made us all ashamed
That what we cherished, so unknown
To her desire seemed.

So satisfied to go
Where none of us should be,
Immediately, that anguish stooped
Almost to jealousy.

Emily Dickinson

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                         When he himself might his quietus make

                                       With a bare bodkin?

When he himself might his quietus make

                               With a bare bodkin?