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- Written by Emily Dickinson.


A Dew sufficed itself —
And satisfied a Leaf
And felt "how vast a destiny" —
"How trivial is Life!"

The Sun went out to work —
The Day went out to play
And not again that Dew be seen
By Physiognomy

Whether by Day Abducted
Or emptied by the Sun
Into the Sea in passing
Eternally unknown

Attested to this Day
That awful Tragedy
By Transport's instability
And Doom's celerity.

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