poem of the day

Remorse is memory awake,
Her companies astir,---
A presence of departed acts
At window and at door.

It's past set down before the soul,
And lighted with a match,
Perusal to facilitate
Of its condensed despatch.

Remorse is cureless,---the disease
Not even God can heal;
For 't is his institution,---
The complement of hell.


- Emily Dickinson (1896 edited version)