Читать книгу The Complete Poetry of Emily Dickinson - Эмили Дикинсон - Страница 107

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I reason, earth is short,

And anguish absolute,

And many hurt;

But what of that?

I reason, we could die:

The best vitality

Cannot excel decay;

But what of that?

I reason that in heaven

Somehow, it will be even,

Some new equation given;

But what of that?