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1830–1886

XX.

Emily Dickinson

The last night that she lived, It was a common night, Except the dying; this to us Made nature different.

We noticed smallest things, — Things overlooked before, By this great light upon our minds Italicized, as‘ t were.

That others could exist While she must finish quite, A jealousy for her arose So nearly infinite.

We waited while she passed; It was a narrow time, Too jostled were our souls to speak, At length the notice came.

She mentioned, and forgot; Then lightly as a reed Bent to the water, shivered scarce, Consented, and was dead.

And we, we placed the hair, And drew the head erect; And then an awful leisure was, Our faith to regulate.

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XX. · Emily Dickinson · Poetry Cove