Publication - is the Auction / Of the Mind of Man - Emily Dickinson

I breathed enough to learn the trick,
And now, removed from air,
I simulate the breath so well,
That one, to be quite sure

The lungs are stirless, must descend
Among the cunning cells,
And touch the pantomime himself.
How cool the bellows feels!

I lived on Dread — To Those who know
The Stimulus there is
In Danger — Other impetus
Is numb — and Vitalless — As 'twere a Spur — upon the Soul — A Fear will urge it where
To go without the Sceptre's aid
Were Challenging Despair.

She dealt her pretty words like blades — how glittering they shone — and every one unbared a nerve
or wantoned with a bone — She never deemed — she hurt — that — is not steel’s affair — a vulgar grimace in the flesh — how ill the creatures bear — To ache is human — not polite — the film upon the eye
mortality’s old custom — just locking up — to die.