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Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
1830-1886

 
"It was not Death,
for I stood up"

 

It was not Death, for I stood up,
And all the Dead, lie down
It was not Night, for all the Bells
Put out their Tongues, for Noon.

It was not Frost, for on my Flesh
I felt Siroccos crawl
Not Fire for just my Marble feet
Could keep a Chancel, cool

And yet, it tasted, like them all,
The Figures I have seen
Set orderly, for Burial,
Reminded me, of mine

As if my life were shaven,
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key,
And 'twas like Midnight, some

When everything that ticked has stopped
And space stares all around
Or Grisly frosts first Autumn morns,
Repeal the Beating Ground

But, most, like Chaos Stopless cool
Without a Chance, or Spar
Or even a Report of Land
To justify Despair.

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