Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

* * *

MY nosegays are for captives;
   Dim, long-expectant eyes,
Fingers denied the plucking,
   Patient till paradise.

To such, if they should whisper
   Of morning and the moor,
They bear no other errand,
   And I, no other prayer. 

1. Superiority to Fate
2. Hope (Hope is a subtle glutton)
3. The Forgotten Grave
4. Forbidden Fruit. I
5. I Think Just How My Shape Will Rise

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