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Each Scar I'll keep for Him
Instead I'll say of Gem
In His long Absence worn
A Costlier one
But every Tear I bore
Were He to count them o'er
His own would fall so more
I'll mis sum them.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Suspense—is Hostiler Than Death
- As Frost Is Best Conceived
- It Struck Me Every Day
- Doom Is The House Without The Door
- Superfluous Were The Sun