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Should you but fail at—Sea—
In sight of me—
Or doomed lie—
Next Sun—to die—
Or rap—at Paradise—unheard
I'd harass God
Until he let you in!
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Ourselves Were Wed One Summer—dear
- Of Being Is A Bird
- We Cover Thee—sweet Face
- Good Night, Because We Must
- The Good Will Of A Flower