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| I think just how my shape will rise --
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| Written by: | Emily Dickinson (other works)
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| Poem #: | 237
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| Composed: |
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| Published: |
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| Volume: |
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| Language: | English
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| Type: | Poetry
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| Form: |
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| Rhyme: |
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| Preceded by: | If He dissolve -- then -- there is nothing -- more -- -236-
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| Succeeded by: | Kill your Balm -- and its Odors bless you -- -238-
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Wikipedia article
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I think just how my shape will rise --
When I shall be "forgiven" --
Till Hair -- and Eyes -- and timid Head --
Are out of sight -- in Heaven --
I think just how my lips will weigh --
With shapeless -- quivering -- prayer --
That you -- so late -- "Consider" me --
The "Sparrow" of your Care --
I mind me that of Anguish -- sent --
Some drifts were moved away --
Before my simple bosom -- broke --
And why not this -- if they?
And so I con that thing -- "forgiven" --
Until -- delirious -- borne --
By my long bright -- and longer -- trust --
I drop my Heart -- unshriven!
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