Emily Dickinson Poems

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I meant to find Her when I came --
Death -- had the same design --
But the Success -- was His -- it seems --
And the Surrender -- Mine --

I meant to tell Her how I longed
For just this single time --
But Death had told Her so the first --
And she had past, with Him --

To wander -- now -- is my Repose --
To rest -- To rest would be
A privilege of Hurricane
To Memory -- and Me.

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