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Poemsby Emily Dickinson

VII

 I read my sentence steadily,
Reviewed it with my eyes,
To see that I made no mistake
In its extremest clause, —
 The date, and manner of the shame;
And then the pious form
That "God have mercy" on the soul
The jury voted him.
 I made my soul familiar
With her extremity,
That at the last it should not be
A novel agony,
 But she and Death, acquainted,
Meet tranquilly as friends,
Salute and pass without a hint —
And there the matter ends.