Like Flowers, That Heard the News of Dews, by Emily Dickinson

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Like Flowers, that heard the news of Dews,
But never deemed the dripping prize
Awaited their — low Brows —
Or Bees — that thought the Summer’s name
Some rumor of Delirium,
No Summer — could — for Them —

Or Arctic Creatures, dimly stirred —
By Tropic Hint — some Travelled Bird
Imported to the Wood —

Or Wind’s bright signal to the Ear —
Making that homely, and severe,
Contented, known, before —

The Heaven — unexpected come,
To Lives that thought the Worshipping
A too presumptuous Psalm —

Emily Dickenson

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