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How happy I was if I could forget
To remember how sad I am
Would be an easy adversity
But the recollecting of Bloom
Keeps making November difficult
Till I who was almost bold
Lose my way like a little Child
And perish of the cold.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Do People Moulder Equally
- As If I Asked A Common Alms
- A Tooth Upon Our Peace
- Water, Is Taught By Thirst
- At Least—to Pray—is Left—is Left