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That is solemn we have ended
Be it but a Play
Or a Glee among the Garret
Or a Holiday
Or a leaving Home, or later,
Parting with a World
We have understood for better
Still to be explained.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Presentiment Is That Long Shadow On The Lawn
- He Fumbles At Your Soul
- South Winds Jostle Them
- Under The Light, Yet Under
- He Fumbles At Your Spirit