Emily Dickinson
The Sun kept stooping—stooping
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The Sun kept stooping—stooping—low!
The Hills to meet him rose!
On his side, what Transaction!
On their side, what Repose!

Deeper and deeper grew the stain
Upon the window pane
Thicker and thicker stood the feet
Until the Tyrian

Was crowded dense with Armies
So gay, so Brigadier
That I felt martial stirrings
Who once the Cockade wore

Charged from my chimney corner
But Nobody was there!