As by the dead we love to sit,
by Emily Dickinson (1830–1886)
As by the dead we love to sit,
Become so wondrous dear —
As for the lost we grapple
Tho' all the rest are here —
In broken mathematics
We estimate our prize
Vast — in its fading ration
To our penurious eyes!
Source: Wikisource
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Because I could not stop for Death—
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There is a pain — so utter —
It swallows substance up —
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