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To this World she returned.
But with a tinge of that—
A Compound manner,
As a Sod
Espoused a Violet,
That chiefer to the Skies
Than to himself, allied,
Dwelt hesitating, half of Dust,
And half of Day, the Bride.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Why Do They Shut Me Out of Heaven?
- If Your Nerve, Deny You
- Unto Me? I Do Not Know You—
- Going To Heaven!
- The Bible Is An Antique Volume