"The end near," the walrus said, "but where shall we go?" The carpenter replied: "We'll go a place of joy and ask them to let us in." The walrus replied: "Then we'll go to Heaven or Hell. Heaven for me and Hell for you." The carpenter still had some wit. "I'm not going to a place of s__t, but to a pleasure dome that I will call my home." The walrus said: "The two best pleasure domes are south of Rome or north of Nome." "Is that the truth?" the carpenter asked. "A spinster New England poet had some answers," the walrus said, "and she told them in a sparkling eight-line poem. Here is what she wrote: The heart asks pleasure first, And then excuse from pain; And then those little anodynes That deaden suffering; And then to go sleep; And then, if it should be The will of its inquisitor, The privilege to die. _______________________________________ The poem above, "The Heart Asks Pleasure First" was written in 1862 by Emily Dickinson [1830-1886]. Her townspeople had often called her "the Belle of Amherst." I have more to write on Emily Dickinson, but I'll write it later. ------Email from Stephen to his children, 7/22/15-----