Page:Emily Dickinson Poems - third series (1896).djvu/169

 POEMS. 155

XVII. ASLEEP.

A S far from pity as complaint, As numb to revelation As if my trade were bone.
 * As cool to speech as stone,

As far from time as history,

As near yourself to-day As children to the rainbow's scarf,

Or sunset's yellow play

To eyelids in the sepulchre.

How still the dancer lies, While color's revelations break,

And blaze the butterflies !

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