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There is a morn by men unseen

 There is a morn by men unseen --
Whose maids upon remoter green
Keep their Seraphic May --
And all day long, with dance and game,
And gambol I may never name --
Employ their holiday.
Here to light measure, move the feet Which walk no more the village street -- Nor by the wood are found -- Here are the birds that sought the sun When last year's distaff idle hung And summer's brows were bound.
Ne'er saw I such a wondrous scene -- Ne'er such a ring on such a green -- Nor so serene array -- As if the stars some summer night Should swing their cups of Chrysolite -- And revel till the day -- Like thee to dance -- like thee to sing -- People upon the mystic green -- I ask, each new May Morn.
I wait thy far, fantastic bells -- Unto the different dawn!

Poem by Emily Dickinson
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Book: Reflection on the Important Things