Spring again

A light exists in spring

Not present on the year

At any other period.

When March is scarcely here

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A color stands abroad

On solitary hills

That silence cannot overtake,

But human nature feels.

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It waits upon the lawn;

It shows the furthest tree

Upon the furthest slope we know;

It almost speaks to me.

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Then, as horizons step,

Or noons report away,

Without the formula of sound,

It passes, and we stay:

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A quality of loss

Affecting our content,

As trade has suddenly encroached

Upon a sacrament.

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Emily Dickinson (1830-86). Complete Poems, 1924.

Photographed in the Donald E. Davis Arboretum, Auburn University.

 

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