There's something quieter than sleep
Within this inner room!
It wears a sprig upon its breast,
And will not tell its name.
Some touch it and some kiss it,
Some chafe its idle hand;
It has a simple gravity
I do not understand!
While simple-hearted neighbors
Chat of the 'early dead,'
We, prone to periphrasis,
Remark that birds have fled!
Dead.
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
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Poem topics: kiss, sleep, room, touch, understand, gravity, early, simple, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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