Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Vanished

She died, - this was the way she died;
And when her breath was done,
Took up her simple wardrobe
And started for the sun.

Her little figure at the gate
The angels must have spied,
Since I could never find her
Upon the mortal side.

1. Contrast
2. Ventures
3. Disenchantment
4. What Soft, Cherubic Creatures
5. Philosophy

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