< Page:Emily Dickinson Poems - third series (1896).djvu
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POEMS. 199
And if my stocking hung too high, Would it blur the Christmas glee,
That not a Santa Glaus could reach The altitude of me ?
��But this sort grieved myself, and so
I thought how it would be When just this time, some perfect year,
Themselves should come to me.
�� �
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