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The Robin is the One
That interrupt the Morn
With hurried—few—express Reports
When March is scarcely on—
The Robin is the One
That overflow the Noon
With her cherubic quantity—
An April but begun—
The Robin is the One
That speechless from her Nest
Submit that Home—and Certainty
And Sanctity, are best
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- I Think The Longest Hour Of All
- I Saw No Way—the Heavens Were Stitched
- I Lost A World - The Other Day!
- The Difference Between Despair
- Me From Myself—to Banish