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A Pit -- but Heaven over it --

 A Pit -- but Heaven over it --
And Heaven beside, and Heaven abroad,
And yet a Pit --
With Heaven over it.
To stir would be to slip -- To look would be to drop -- To dream -- to sap the Prop That holds my chances up.
Ah! Pit! With Heaven over it! The depth is all my thought -- I dare not ask my feet -- 'Twould start us where we sit So straight you'd scarce suspect It was a Pit -- with fathoms under it -- Its Circuit just the same.
Seed -- summer -- tomb -- Whose Doom to whom?

Poem by Emily Dickinson
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