Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

* * *

Upon the gallows hung a wretch,
  Too sullied for the hell
To which the law entitled him.
  As nature's curtain fell
The one who bore him tottered in,
  For this was woman's son.
''T was all I had,' she stricken gasped;
  Oh, what a livid boon!

1. In Lands I Never Saw, They Say
2. Morns Like These We Parted
3. Some, Too Fragile for Winter Winds
4. Ghosts
5. What Inn Is This

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