It sifts from Leaden Sieves (Emily Dickinson Poem)
It sifts from Leaden Sieves -- It powders all the Wood. It fills with Alabaster Wool The Wrinkles of the ...
It sifts from Leaden Sieves -- It powders all the Wood. It fills with Alabaster Wool The Wrinkles of the ...
We never know how high we are Till we are asked to rise And then if we are true to ...
I heard a Fly buzz -- when I died -- The Stillness in the Room Was like the Stillness in ...
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