Emily Dickinson Poem

This Merit hath the worst

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This Merit hath the worst—
It cannot be again—
When Fate hath taunted last
And thrown Her furthest Stone—

The Maimed may pause, and breathe,
And glance securely round—
The Deer attracts no further
Than it resists—the Hound—

This Quiet Dust was Gentlemen and Ladies
This is the land the sunset washes,

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