Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

* * *

Angels in the early morning
May be seen the dews among,
Stooping, plucking, smiling, flying:
Do the buds to them belong?

Angels when the sun is hottest
May be seen the sands among,
Stooping, plucking, sighing, flying;
Parched the flowers they bear along.

1. The Riddle We Can Guess
2. Playmates
3. Resurgam
4. The Martyrs
5. Sight

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