Copper-Pink Sun

She thought piteously of the copper-pink sun.
Is there, then, something wicked
from the icy sky?
Too far—over ten miles—
to the red sleigh.
"I cannot drive the little horses all the way back without giving them any rest."
I grow sleepy.
I yawn.
We can be sure of a private wisest.
Wisest not to stop.
“Frankly, I don’t like most of the literary men of Boston.”

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