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Poems by Emily Dickinson, Series One by Emily Dickinson
page 43 of 92 (46%)

III.

WHY?

THE murmur of a bee
A witchcraft yieldeth me.
If any ask me why,
'T were easier to die
Than tell.

The red upon the hill
Taketh away my will;
If anybody sneer,
Take care, for God is here,
That's all.

The breaking of the day
Addeth to my degree;
If any ask me how,
Artist, who drew me so,
Must tell!




IV.

Perhaps you'd like to buy a flower?
But I could never sell.
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