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She Died at Play

75
 
She died at play,
Gambolled away
Her lease of spotted hours,
Then sank as gaily as a Turn
Upon a Couch of flowers.
 
Her ghost strolled softly o’er the hill
Yesterday, and Today,
Her vestments as the silver fleece—
Her countenance as spray.
Autres oeuvres par Emily Dickinson...



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