some of my Emily Dickinson
Carol Peters
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zealots for ED (like me)
archive
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2010
(23)
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February
(1)
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January
(22)
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2009
(93)
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December
(31)
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November
(30)
Bloom — is Result — to meet a Flower
Tie the strings to my Life, My Lord,
Gratitude — is not the mention
The Soul has Bandaged moments —
Had I not This, or This, I said,
Reportless Subjects, to the Quick
I've none to tell me to but Thee
Our journey had advanced —
My Season's furthest Flower —
On the World you colored
We grow accustomed to the Dark —
I took my Power in my Hand —
Conjecturing a Climate
The Birds begun at Four o'clock —
I felt my life with both my hands
It tossed — and tossed —
Because He loves Her
A Prison gets to be a friend —
Nature — the Gentlest Mother is,
Volcanoes be in Sicily
Four Trees — opon a solitary Acre —
You taught me Waiting with Myself —
Revolution is the Pod
Quite empty, quite at rest,
Pigmy seraphs — gone astray —
Not at Home to Callers
Me, change! Me, alter!
Kill your Balm — and it's Odors bless you —
How soft this Prison is
I tie my Hat — I crease my Shawl —
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October
(31)
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September
(1)
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Me, change! Me, alter!
Me, change! Me, alter!
Then I will, when on the Everlasting Hill
A Smaller Purple grows —
At Sunset, or a lesser glow
Flickers opon Cordillera —
At Day's superior close!
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