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Emily Dickinson · Poems

Poem 427 of 446 · Third Series: Time and Eternity

Poem 40

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Three weeks passed since I had seen her, -- Some disease had vexed; 'T was with text and village singing I beheld her next,

And a company -- our pleasure To discourse alone; Gracious now to me as any, Gracious unto none.

Borne, without dissent of either, To the parish night; Of the separated people Which are out of sight?

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