Where every bird is bold to go
by Emily Dickinson (1830–1886)
Where every bird is bold to go
And bees abashless play,
The foreigner before he knocks
Must thrust the tears away.
Source: Wikisource
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Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves— …
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There is a pain — so utter —
It swallows substance up —
Then covers the Abyss with Trance — …
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A charm invests a face
Imperfectly beheld.
The lady dare not lift her veil …
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There came a Wind like a Bugle —
It quivered through the Grass
And a Green Chill upon the Heat …
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