My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun
A life stood in corners like a loaded gun until an owner passed, identified it and carried it away, and now the two roam the sovereign woods and hunt the doe while the mountains straight reply to whatever the speaker speaks for him. She guards his head at night, better than the eider-duck's deep pillow to have shared. The closing quatrain has drawn more incompatible readings than anything else Dickinson wrote.
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