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Emily Dickinson · Poems

Poem 91 of 446 · First Series: Time and Eternity

Refuge

— ✻ —

The clouds their backs together laid,
The north begun to push,
The forests galloped till they fell,
The lightning skipped like mice;
The thunder crumbled like a stuff --
How good to be safe in tombs,
Where nature's temper cannot reach,
Nor vengeance ever comes!

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