by Emily Dickinson
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American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
< < < I felt a funeral in my brain
I gained it so > > >
I found the phrase to every thought
I found the phrase to every thought
I ever had, but one;
And that defies me, — as a hand
Did try to chalk the sun
To races nurtured in the dark; —
How would your own begin?
Can blaze be done in cochineal,
Or noon in mazarin?
< < < I felt a funeral in my brain
I gained it so > > >
American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
Copyright holders – Public Domain
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