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This Dust, and its Feature—
Accredited—Today—Will in a second Future—
Cease to identify—
This Mind, and its measure—
A too minute Area
For its enlarged inspection's
Comparison—appear—
This World, and its species
A too concluded show
For its absorbed Attention's
Remotest scrutiny—
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Who Giants Know, With Lesser Men
- Of Consciousness, Her Awful Mate
- To Flee From Memory
- Proud Of My Broken Heart
- I'Ve None To Tell Me To But Thee