by Emily Dickinson
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American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
< < < I bring an unaccustomed wine
I felt a funeral in my brain > > >
I died for beauty, but was scarce
I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.
He questioned softly why I failed?
“For beauty,” I replied.
“And I for truth, — the two are one;
We brethren are,” he said.
And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.
< < < I bring an unaccustomed wine
I felt a funeral in my brain > > >
American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
Copyright holders – Public Domain
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