Emily Dickinson Poem

A Route Of Evanescence

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A Route of Evanescence

With a revolving Wheel–

A Resonance of Emerald–

A Rush of Cochineal–

And every Blossom on the Bush

Adjusts its tumbled Head–

The mail from Tunis, probably,

An easy Morning’s Ride–

The Brain Is Wider Than The Sky
My Life Had Stood

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