Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

* * *

She went as quiet as the dew
From a familiar flower.
Not like the dew did she return
At the accustomed hour!

She dropt as softly as a star
From out my summer's eve;
Less skilful than Leverrier
It's sorer to believe!

1. Contrast
2. Ventures
3. What Soft, Cherubic Creatures
4. Philosophy
5. This Merit Hath the Worst

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