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

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