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Remorse—is Memory—awake
Emily Dickinson
744 Remorse—is Memory—awake— Her Parties all astir— A Presence of Departed Acts— At window—and at Door— Its Past—set down before the Soul And lighted with a Match— Perusal—to facilitate— And help Belief to stretch— Remorse is cureless—the Disease Not even God—can heal— For ’tis His institution—and The Adequate of Hell—
