692 The Sun kept setting—setting—still No Hue of Afternoon— Upon the Village I perceived From House to House `twas Noon— The Dusk kept dropping—dropping—still No Dew upon the Grass— But only on my Forehead stopped— And wandered in my Face— My Feet kept drowsing—drowsing—still My fingers were awake— Yet why so little sound—Myself Unto my Seeming—make? How well I knew the Light before— I could see it now— `Tis Dying—I am doing—but I`m not afraid to know—SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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