Emily Dickinson Poem

Just as He spoke it from his Hands πŸ‘‹

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Just as He spoke it from his Hands
This Edifice remainβ€”
A Turret more, a Turret less
Dishonor his Designβ€”

According as his skill prefer
It perish, or endureβ€”
Content, soe’er, it ornament
His absent character.

Just lost, when I was saved!
Joy to have merited the Pain πŸͺ

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