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Poemsby Emily Dickinson

XIII

 The moon is distant from the sea,
And yet with amber hands
She leads him, docile as a boy,
Along appointed sands.
 He never misses a degree;
Obedient to her eye,
He comes just so far toward the town,
Just so far goes away.
 Oh, Signor, thine the amber hand,
And mine the distant sea, —
Obedient to the least command
Thine eyes impose on me.