Emily Dickinson Poem

Death’s Waylaying not the sharpest

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Death’s Waylaying not the sharpest
Of the Thefts of Time –
There marauds a sorer Robber –
Silence – is his name –
No Assault, nor any menace
Doth betoken him.
But from Life’s consummate Cluster,
He supplants the Balm.

Declaiming Waters none may dread
Death warrants are supposed to be

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