As far from pity, as complaint Emily Dickinson

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As far from pity, as complaint
As cool to speech — as stone
As numb to Revelation
As if my Trade were Bone

As far from time — as History
As near yourself — Today
As Children, to the Rainbow's scarf
Or Sunset's Yellow play

To eyelids in the Sepulchre
How dumb the Dancer lies
While Color's Revelations break
And blaze — the Butterflies!