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Poems by Emily Dickinson, Third Series

LVII.

Reading edition

SLEEPING.

A long, long sleep, a famous sleep That makes no show for dawn By stretch of limb or stir of lid, — An independent one.

Was ever idleness like this? Within a hut of stone To bask the centuries away Nor once look up for noon?

Explore with AITake your curiosity a little further.

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