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Emily Dickinson · Poems

Poem 62 of 446 · First Series: Nature

Poem 18

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Angels in the early morning May be seen the dews among, Stooping, plucking, smiling, flying: Do the buds to them belong?

Angels when the sun is hottest May be seen the sands among, Stooping, plucking, sighing, flying; Parched the flowers they bear along.

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