Page:Emily Dickinson Poems - third series (1896).djvu/180

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XXVIII.

I WISH I knew that woman's name,
So, when she comes this way,
To hold my life, and hold my ears,
For fear I hear her say

She's 'sorry I am dead,' again,
Just when the grave and I
Have sobbed ourselves almost to sleep,—
Our only lullaby.


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