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This Merit hath the worst—
It cannot be again—
When Fate hath taunted last
And thrown Her furthest Stone—
The Maimed may pause, and breathe,
And glance securely round—
The Deer attracts no further
Than it resists—the Hound—
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- No Prisoner Be
- We Met As Sparks—diverging Flints
- This Bauble Was Preferred Of Bees
- Mute Thy Coronation
- I Noticed People Disappeared