by Emily Dickinson
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American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
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Storm
It sounded as if the streets were running,
And then the streets stood still.
Eclipse was all we could see at the window,
And awe was all we could feel.
By and by the boldest stole out of his covert,
To see if time was there.
Nature was in her beryl apron,
Mixing fresher air.
American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
Copyright holders – Public Domain
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