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Its Hour with itself
The Spirit never shows.
What Terror would enthrall the Street
Could Countenance disclose
The Subterranean Freight
The Cellars of the Soul-
Thank God the loudest Place he made
Is license to be still.
Its Hour With Itself
Emily Dickinson
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Poem topics: god, never, soul, place, spirit, street, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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