Emily Dickinson

The Manner Of Its Death

poem 468

The Manner of its Death When Certain it must die ‘Tis deemed a privilege to choose ‘Twas Major Andre’s Way When Choice of Life is past There yet remains a Love Its little Fate to stipulate How small in those who live The Miracle to tease With Bable of the styles How they are Dying mostly now And Customs at St. James!

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