Poem 9 (J 445: 1862/1896)
*no variant lines occur in this poem*

'Twas just this time, last year, I died.
I know I heard the Corn,
When I was carried by the Farms--
It had the Tassels on--

I thought how yellow it would look--
When Richard went to mill--
And then, I wanted to get out,
But something held my will.

I thought just how red--Apples wedged
The Stubble's joints between--
And carts stooping round the fields
To take the Pumpkins in--

I wondered which would miss me, least,
And when Thanksgiving, came,
If father'd multiply the plates--
To make an even Sum--

And would it blur the Christmas glee
My Stocking hand too high
For any Santa Claus to reach
The Altitude of me--

But this sort, grieved myself,
And so, I thought the other way,
And just this time, some perfect year--
Themself, should come to me--

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