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Lyric Poem · Summer

The Summer that we did not prize

by Emily Dickinson

The Summer that we did not prize,

Her treasures were so easy

Instructs us by departing now

And recognition lazy —

Bestirs itself — puts on its Coat,

And scans with fatal promptness

For Trains that moment out of sight,

Unconscious of his smartness.

This poem is in the public domain.

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