Let down the bars, O Death!
The tired flocks come in
Whose bleating ceases to repeat,
Whose wandering is done.
Thine is the stillest night,
Thine the securest fold;
Too near thou art for seeking thee,
Too tender to be told.
Let Down The Bars, O Death!
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
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Poem topics: death, night, tender, repeat, tired, thine, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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