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Tis whiter than an Indian Pipe—
Emily Dickinson
1482 ’Tis whiter than an Indian Pipe— ’Tis dimmer than a Lace— No stature has it, like a Fog When you approach the place— Nor any voice imply it here Or intimate it there A spirit—how doth it accost— What function hat the Air? This limitless Hyperbole Each one of us shall be— ’Tis Drama—if Hypothesis It be not Tragedy—
