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That after Horror—that 'twas us—
That passed the mouldering Pier—
Just as the Granite Crumb let go—
Our Savior, by a Hair—
A second more, had dropped too deep
For Fisherman to plumb—
The very profile of the Thought
Puts Recollection numb—
The possibility—to pass
Without a Moment's Bell—
Into Conjecture's presence—
Is like a Face of Steel—
That suddenly looks into ours
With a metallic grin—
The Cordiality of Death—
Who drills his Welcome in—
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Split The Lark&Mdash;And You'Ll Find The Music
- It Did Not Surprise Me
- Sweet&Mdash;You Forgot&Mdash;But I Remembered
- This Is My Letter To The World,
- Sown In Dishonor