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Emily Dickinson · Poems

Poem 303 of 446 · Third Series: Life

Poem 22

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Upon the gallows hung a wretch, Too sullied for the hell To which the law entitled him. As nature's curtain fell The one who bore him tottered in, For this was woman's son. ''T was all I had,' she stricken gasped; Oh, what a livid boon!

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