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

 1 66 POEMS.

��XXVIII.

T WISH I knew that woman's name, To hold my life, and hold my ears, For fear I hear her say
 * So, when she comes this way,

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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