Like Some Old Fashioned Miracle
Emily Dickinson
302 Like Some Old fashioned Miracle When Summertime is done— Seems Summer’s Recollection And the Affairs of June As infinite Tradition As Cinderella’s Bays— Or Little John—of Lincoln Green— Or Blue Beard’s Galleries— Her Bees have a fictitious Hum— Her Blossoms, like a Dream— Elate us—till we almost weep— So plausible—they seem— Her Memories like Strains—Review— When Orchestra is dumb— The Violin in Baize replaced— And Ear—and Heaven—numb—
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