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Emily Dickinson - In falling Timbers buriedEmily Dickinson - In falling Timbers buried
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614 In falling Timbers buried— There breathed a Man— Outside—the spades—were plying— The Lungs—within— Could He—know—they sought Him— Could They—know—He breathed— Horrid Sand Partition— Neither—could be heard— Never slacked the Diggers— But when Spades had done— Oh, Reward of Anguish, It was dying—Then— Many Things—are fruitless— `Tis a Baffling Earth— But there is no Gratitude Like the Grace—of Death—
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