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Poems by Emily Dickinson, Series One by Emily Dickinson
page 35 of 92 (38%)

And were you lost, I would be,
Though my name
Rang loudest
On the heavenly fame.

And were you saved,
And I condemned to be
Where you were not,
That self were hell to me.

So we must keep apart,
You there, I here,
With just the door ajar
That oceans are,
And prayer,
And that pale sustenance,
Despair!




XIII.

RENUNCIATION.


There came a day at summer's full
Entirely for me;
I thought that such were for the saints,
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