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Emily Dickinson's Collected Poems

Part One: Life 137. One day is there of the series

THANKSGIVING DAY.


One day is there of the series

Termed Thanksgiving day,

Celebrated part at table,

Part in memory.


Neither patriarch nor pussy,

I dissect the play;

Seems it, to my hooded thinking,

Reflex holiday.


Had there been no sharp subtraction

From the early sum,

Not an acre or a caption

Where was once a room,


Not a mention, whose small pebble

Wrinkled any bay, --

Unto such, were such assembly,

'T were Thanksgiving day.

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