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If I'm lost—now
That I was found—
Shall still my transport be—
That once—on me—those Jasper Gates
Blazed open—suddenly—
That in my awkward—gazing—face—
The Angels—softly peered—
And touched me with their fleeces,
Almost as if they cared—
I'm banished—now—you know it—
How foreign that can be—
You'll know—Sir—when the Savior's face
Turns so—away from you—
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Love—thou Art High
- Mama Never Forgets Her Birds
- The Flower Must Not Blame The Bee
- Went Up A Year This Evening!
- In This Short Life