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22 by emily dickinson

Emily Dickinson




22

I gave myself to him,
And took himself for pay.
The solemn contract of a life
Was ratified this way
The value might disappoint,
Myself a poorer prove
Than this my purchaser suspect,
The daily own of Love
Depreciates the sight;
But, 'til the merchant buy,
Still fabled, in the isles of spice
The subtle cargoes lie.
At least, 'tis mutual risk,—
Some found it mutual gain;
Sweet debt of Life,—each night to owe,
Insolvent, every noon.