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Poems by Emily Dickinson: XXVIII

by EmilyDickinson
The Chariot
Resurgam

XXVIII

She went as quiet as the dew
From a familiar flower.
Not like the dew did she return
At the accustomed hour!
She dropt as softly as a star
From out my summer's eve;
Less skilful than Leverrier
It's sorer to believe!
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