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Poems by Emily Dickinson: XXII

by EmilyDickinson
XXI
The Lost Thought

XXII

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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