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The Summer That We Did Not Prize

Emily Dickinson

1773

The Summer that we did not prize,
Her treasures were so easy
Instructs us by departing now
And recognition lazy-

Bestirs itself-puts on its Coat,
And scans with fatal promptness
For Trains that moment out of sight,
Unconscious of his smartness.

(C) Emily Dickinson
01/01/2000


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