Emily Dickinson Poems

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The spry Arms of the Wind
If I could crawl between
I have an errand imminent
To an adjoining Zone --

I should not care to stop
My Process is not long
The Wind could wait without the Gate
Or stroll the Town among.

To ascertain the House
And is the soul at Home
And hold the Wick of mine to it
To light, and then return --

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