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Emily Dickinson · Poems

Poem 251 of 446 · Second Series: Time and Eternity

Poem 12

— ✻ —

As by the dead we love to sit,
Become so wondrous dear,
As for the lost we grapple,
Though all the rest are here, --

In broken mathematics
We estimate our prize,
Vast, in its fading ratio,
To our penurious eyes!

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