Читать книгу The Complete Poetry of Emily Dickinson - Эмили Дикинсон - Страница 100

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The clouds their backs together laid,

The north begun to push,

The forests galloped till they fell,

The lightning skipped like mice;

The thunder crumbled like a stuff —

How good to be safe in tombs,

Where nature's temper cannot reach,

Nor vengeance ever comes!