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A throe upon the features—
A hurry in the breath—
An ecstasy of parting
Denominated "Death"—
An anguish at the mention
Which when to patience grown,
I've known permission given
To rejoin its own.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Bereavement In Their Death To Feel
- Although I Put Away His Life
- Dare You See A Soul At The White Heat?
- Beclouded
- Death Sets A Thing Of Signigicant
