Emily Dickinson Poem

The Auctioneer of Parting

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The Auctioneer of Parting
His “Going, going, gone”
Shouts even from the Crucifix,
And brings his Hammer down —
He only sells the Wilderness,
The prices of Despair
Range from a single human Heart
To Two — not any more —

The Bat is dun, with wrinkled Wings —
That this should feel the need of Death

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