Page:Emily Dickinson Poems - second series (1891).djvu/101

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F all the souls that stand create I have elected one. When sense from spirit files away, And subterfuge is done;

When that which is and that which was Apart, intrinsic, stand, And this brief tragedy of flesh Is shifted like a sand;

When figures show their royal front And mists are carved away,– Behold the atom I preferred To all the lists of clay!