< Page:Emily Dickinson Poems (1890).djvu
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XIV.
THE SECRET.
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Some things that fly there be, —
Birds, hours, the bumble-bee :
Of these no elegy.
Some things that stay there be, —
Grief, hills, eternity :
Nor this behooveth me.
There are, that resting, rise.
Can I expound the skies ?
How still the riddle lies !
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