Tag: Emily Dickinson – Winter Poem
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It Sifts from Leaden Sieves, It Powders All the Wood . . .
It sifts from leaden sieves, It powders all the wood, It fills with alabaster wool The wrinkles of the road. It makes an even face Of mountain and of plain, — Unbroken forehead from the east Unto the east again. It reaches to the fence, It wraps it, rail by rail, Till it is lost […]
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