Emily DICKINSON
1858
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Flees so the phantom meadow Before the breathless Bee — So bubble brooks in deserts On ears that dying lie — Burn so the evening spires To eyes that Closing go — Hangs so distant Heaven — To a hand below.
Le Conte…
1858
Flees so the phantom meadow Before the breathless Bee — So bubble brooks in deserts On ears that dying lie — Burn so the evening spires To eyes that Closing go — Hangs so distant Heaven — To a hand below.