Were Natural Mortal Lady

Emily Dickinson

1762

Were natural mortal lady
  Who had so little time
To pack her trunk and order
  The great exchange of clime—

How rapid, how momentous—
  What exigencies were—
But nature will be ready
  And have an hour to spare.

To make some trifle fairer
  That was too fair before—
Enchanting by remaining,
  And by departure more.

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