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I make His Crescent fill or lack
Emily Dickinson
909 I make His Crescent fill or lack— His Nature is at Full Or Quarter—as I signify— His Tides—do I control— He holds superior in the Sky Or gropes, at my Command Behind inferior Clouds—or round A Mist’s slow Colonnade— But since We hold a Mutual Disc— And front a Mutual Day— Which is the Despot, neither knows— Nor Whose—the Tyranny—
