Poemsby Emily Dickinson


 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.