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I've nothing else—to bring, You know—
So I keep bringing These—
Just as the Night keeps fetching Stars
To our familiar eyes—
Maybe, we shouldn't mind them—
Unless they didn't come—
Then—maybe, it would puzzle us
To find our way Home—
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Partake As Doth The Bee
- Publication
- Herein A Blossom Lies
- 'Tis True—they Shut Me In The Cold
- The Luxury To Apprehend