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After a hundred years
Nobody knows the Place
Agony that enacted there
Motionless as Peace
Weeds triumphant ranged
Strangers strolled and spelled
At the lone Orthography
Of the Elder Dead
Winds of Summer Fields
Recollect the way-
Instinct picking up the Key
Dropped by memory-
After A Hundred Years
Emily Dickinson
(1)
Poem topics: memory, peace, summer, place, instinct, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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