< Page:Emily Dickinson Poems - third series (1896).djvu
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POEMS. 197
��LVII. SLEEPING.
ALONG, 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 ?
�� �
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