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

 POEMS. 197

��LVII. SLEEPING.

ALONG, 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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