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Poemsby Emily Dickinson

Dying
XLVIII

XLVII

Adrift! A little boat adrift!
  And night is coming down!
Will no one guide a little boat
  Unto the nearest town?
So sailors say, on yesterday,
  Just as the dusk was brown,
One little boat gave up its strife,
  And gurgled down and down.
But angels say, on yesterday,
  Just as the dawn was red,
One little boat o'erspent with gales
Retrimmed its masts, redecked its sails
  Exultant, onward sped!