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Ribbons of the Year—
Multitude Brocade—
Worn to Nature's Party once
Then, as flung aside
As a faded Bead
Or a Wrinkled Pearl
Who shall charge the Vanity
Of the Maker's Girl?
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- What Did They Do Since I Saw Them?
- This Merit Hath The Worst
- No Prisoner Be
- We Met As Sparks—diverging Flints
- This Bauble Was Preferred Of Bees
