Emily Dickinson Poem

His Feet are shod with Gauze

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His Feet are shod with Gauze—

His Helmet, is of Gold,

His Breast, a Single Onyx

With Chrysophrase, inlaid.

 

His Labor is a Chant—

His Idleness—a Tune—

Oh, for a Bee’s experience

Of Clovers, and of Noon!

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His Bill an Auger is

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