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Besides this May
We know
There is Another—
How fair
Our Speculations of the Foreigner!
Some know Him whom We knew—
Sweet Wonder—
A Nature be
Where Saints, and our plain going Neighbor
Keep May!
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Why Do I Love You, Sir?
- Delight Becomes Pictorial
- Four Trees—upon A Solitary Acre
- I Started Early - Took My Dog
- It Was Not Death, For I Stood Up,