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If this is "fading"
Oh let me immediately "fade"!
If this is "dying"
Bury me, in such a shroud of red!
If this is "sleep,"
On such a night
How proud to shut the eye!
Good Evening, gentle Fellow men!
Peacock presumes to die!
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- It's Coming—the Postponeless Creature
- When We Stand On The Tops Of Things
- Not All Die Early, Dying Young
- The Soul's Distinct Connection
- The Doomed—regard The Sunrise
