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Distrustful of the Gentian

 Distrustful of the Gentian --
And just to turn away,
The fluttering of her fringes
Child my perfidy --
Weary for my ----------
I will singing go --
I shall not feel the sleet -- then --
I shall not fear the snow.
Flees so the phantom meadow Before the breathless Bee -- So bubble brooks in deserts On Ears that dying lie -- Burn so the Evening Spires To Eyes that Closing go -- Hangs so distant Heaven -- To a hand below.

by Emily Dickinson
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