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178 erIC nelson Dickinson’s Island Because I could not stop for death— He kindly stopped for me. so sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, A tale of a fateful trip. We slowly drove—He knew no haste, The skipper brave and sure. We passed the fields of gazing grain For a three hour tour. no phones, no lights, no motor cars not a single luxury, The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality. The weather started getting rough, A swelling of the Ground. The dews drew quivering and chill— Only gossamer my gown. since then—’tis Centuries—and yet Feels shorter than the day That started from a tropic port Aboard this tiny ship. ...

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