Emily Dickinson — Tis true—They shut me in the Cold 538

'Tis true—They shut me in the Cold— But then—Themselves were warm And could not know the feeling 'twas— Forget it—Lord—of Them— Let not my Witness hinder Them In Heavenly esteem— No Paradise could be—Conferred Through Their beloved Blame— The Harm They did—was short—And since Myself—who bore it—do— Forgive Them—Even as Myself— Or else—forgive not me—