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Poems by Emily Dickinson, Third Series

by Emily Dickinson

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Three weeks passed since I had seen her, —
  Some disease had vexed;
’T was with text and village singing
  I beheld her next,

And a company — our pleasure
  To discourse alone;
Gracious now to me as any,
  Gracious unto none.

Borne, without dissent of either,
  To the parish night;
Of the separated people
  Which are out of sight?

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