BY EMILY DICKINSON 1830–1886 Emily Dickinson It sifts from Leaden Sieves — It powders all the Wood.
It fills with Alabaster Wool
The Wrinkles of the Road — It makes an Even Face Of Mountain, and of Plain — Unbroken Forehead from the East Unto the East again — It reaches to the Fence — It wraps it Rail by Rail Till it is lost in Fleeces — It deals Celestial Vail To Stump, and Stack - and Stem — A Summer’s empty Room — Acres of Joints, where Harvests were, Recordless, but for them — It Ruffles Wrists of Posts As Ankles of a Queen — Then stills its Artisans — like Ghosts — Denying they have been —http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/1821...
Allowed
Microsoft Office Word (.doc, .dot) - application/msword
... 
