Emily Dickinson Poem

A feather from the Whippoorwill

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A feather from the Whippoorwill

That everlasting—sings!

Whose galleries—are Sunrise—

Whose Opera—the Springs—

Whose Emerald Nest the Ages spin

Of mellow—murmuring thread—

Whose Beryl Egg, what Schoolboys hunt

In “Recess”—Overhead!

A first Mute Coming
A drop fell on the apple tree

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