Page:Emily Dickinson Poems - third series (1896).djvu/211

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LVII.

SLEEPING.

A LONG, long sleep, a famous sleep
That makes no show for dawn
By stretch of limb or stir of lid,—
An independent one.

Was ever idleness like this?
Within a hut of stone
To bask the centuries away
Nor once look up for noon?


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