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Poemsby Emily Dickinson

XXXIX
XLI

XL

Three weeks passed since I had seen her, —
  Some disease had vexed;
'T was with text and village singing
  I beheld her next,
And a company — our pleasure
  To discourse alone;
Gracious now to me as any,
  Gracious unto none.
Borne, without dissent of either,
  To the parish night;
Of the separated people
  Which are out of sight?