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There is a finished feeling
Experienced at Graves—
A leisure of the Future—
A Wilderness of Size.
By Death's bold Exhibition
Preciser what we are
And the Eternal function
Enabled to infer.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Tho' My Destiny Be Fustian
- Perhaps I Asked Too Large
- I Often Passed The Village
- They Called Me To The Window, For
- His Heart Was Darker Than The Starless Night