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The Bee is not afraid of me.
I know the Butterfly.
The pretty people in the Woods
Receive me cordially—
The Brooks laugh louder when I come—
The Breezes madder play;
Wherefore mine eye thy silver mists,
Wherefore, Oh Summer's Day?
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Artists Wrestled Here!
- For This—accepted Breath
- Heart, We Will Forget Him
- Such Is The Force Of Happiness
- Houses—so The Wise Men Tell Me—
