Poem 449


Emily Dickinson

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--Themself are One--

We Bretheren, 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--


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