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If you were coming in the fall,
I'd brush the summer by
With half a smile and half a spurn,
As houswives do, a fly.
If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate dawers,
Untill their time befalls.
If only centuries delayed,
I'd count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemen's land.
If certain, when this life was out,
That yours and mine should be,
I'd toss it yonder like a rind,
And take eternity.
But now, uncertain of the length,
Of this that is between,
It goalds me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state,its sting.
-------Emily Dickinson
I'd brush the summer by
With half a smile and half a spurn,
As houswives do, a fly.
If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate dawers,
Untill their time befalls.
If only centuries delayed,
I'd count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemen's land.
If certain, when this life was out,
That yours and mine should be,
I'd toss it yonder like a rind,
And take eternity.
But now, uncertain of the length,
Of this that is between,
It goalds me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state,its sting.
-------Emily Dickinson
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