Read more poems by Emily Dickinson: Emily Dickinson Poems at Poetry X.
412 I read my sentence—steadily— Reviewed it with my eyes, To see that I made no mistake In its extremest clause— The Date, and manner, of the shame— And then the Pious Form That "God have mercy" on the Soul The Jury voted Him— I made my soul familiar—with her extremity— That at the last, it should not be a novel Agony— But she, and Death, acquainted— Meet tranquilly, as friends— Salute, and pass, without a Hint— And there, the Matter ends—
Added: 19 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 5:20 PM | Viewed: 8954 times
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Emily Dickinson
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