Emily Dickinson Poem

Doom is the House without the Door

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Doom is the House without the Door—

‘Tis entered from the Sun—

And then the Ladder’s thrown away,

Because Escape—is done—

 

‘Tis varied by the Dream

Of what they do outside—

Where Squirrels play—and Berries die—

And Hemlocks—bow—to God—

Doubt Me! My Dim Companion!
Don't put up my Thread and Needle

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