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Poems by Emily Dickinson, Third Series

XIII.

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DEATH.

Death is like the insect Menacing the tree, Competent to kill it, But decoyed may be.

Bait it with the balsam, Seek it with the knife, Baffle, if it cost you Everything in life.

Then, if it have burrowed Out of reach of skill, Ring the tree and leave it, — 'T is the vermin's will.

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