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Emily Dickinson · Poems

Poem 397 of 446 · Third Series: Time and Eternity

Immortality

— ✻ —

It is an honorable thought,
And makes one lift one's hat,
As one encountered gentlefolk
Upon a daily street,

That we've immortal place,
Though pyramids decay,
And kingdoms, like the orchard,
Flit russetly away.

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