by Emily Dickinson
112
Where bells no more affright the morn-
Where scrabble never comes-
Where very nimble Gentlemen
Are forced to keep their rooms-
Where tired Children placid sleep
Thro' Centuries of noon
This place is Bliss-this town is Heaven-
Please, Pater, pretty soon!
"Oh could we climb where Moses stood,
And view the Landscape o'er"
Not Father's bells-nor Factories,
Could scare us any more!
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Last updated June 21, 2015