It don’t sound so terrible’—quite’—as it did’—
I run it over’—"Dead", Brain, “Dead.”
Put it in Latin’—left of my school’—
Seems it don’t shriek so’—under rule.
Turn it, a little’—full in the face
A Trouble looks bitterest’—
Shift it’—just’—
Say "When Tomorrow comes this way’—
I shall have waded down one Day.”
I suppose it will interrupt me some
Till I get accustomed’—but then the Tomb
Like other new Things’—shows largest’—then’—
And smaller, by Habit’—
It’s shrewder then
Put the Thought in advance’—a Year’—
How like “a fit”'—then’—

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