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There's a certain slant of light,


There's a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons,
That oppresses, like the weight
Of cathedral tunes.


Heavenly hurt it gives us;
We can find no scar,
But internal difference
Where the meanings are.


None may teach it anything,
'Tis the seal, despair,-
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the air.


When it comes, the landscape listens,
Shadows hold their breath;
When it goes, 't is like the distance
On the look of death.

Written by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

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