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Эмили Дикинсон Эмили ДикинсонАмериканская поэтэсса

If anybody's friend be dead
It's sharpest of the theme
The thinking how they walked alive --
At such and such a time --

Their costume, of a Sunday,
Some manner of the Hair --
A prank nobody knew but them
Lost, in the Sepulchre --

How warm, they were, on such a day,
You almost feel the date --
So short way off it seems --
And now -- they're Centuries from that --

How pleased they were, at what you said --
You try to touch the smile
And dip your fingers in the frost --
When was it -- Can you tell --

You asked the Company to tea --
Acquaintance -- just a few --
And chatted close with this Grand Thing
That don't remember you --

Past Bows, and Invitations --
Past Interview, and Vow --
Past what Ourself can estimate --
That -- makes the Quick of Woe!

Эмили Дикинсон

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