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I like a look of Agony,
Because I know it's true—
Men do not sham Convulsion,
Nor simulate, a Throe—
The Eyes glaze once—and that is Death—
Impossible to feign
The Beads upon the Forehead
By homely Anguish strung.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Absent Place&Mdash;An April Day
- A Planted Life&Mdash;Diversified
- Death Is A Dialogue Between
- A Science&Mdash;So The Savants Say
- You left me—Sire—two Legacies