< Page:Emily Dickinson Poems (1890).djvu
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XIII.

THE SEA OF SUNSET.

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This is the land the sunset washes,
These are the banks of the Yellow Sea ;
Where it rose, or whither it rushes,
These are the western mystery !

Night after night her purple traffic
Strews the landing with opal bales ;
Merchantmen poise upon horizons,
Dip, and vanish with fairy sails.

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