Emily Dickinson Poem

A long, long sleep, a famous sleep

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A long, long sleep, a famous sleep

That makes no show for dawn

By stretch of limb or stir of lid, —

An independent one.

 

Was ever idleness like this?

Within a hut of stone

To bask the centuries away

Nor once look up for noon?

A loss of something ever felt I
A little Road—not made of Man

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