Читать книгу The Complete Poetry of Emily Dickinson - Эмили Дикинсон - Страница 177

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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 invites no longer

Than it eludes the hound.