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Saturday, May 21, 2011

a poem by emily dickinson.

NATURE, the gentlest mother,         
Impatient of no child,
The feeblest or the waywardest,—    
Her admonition mild  
 
In forest and the hill           5
By traveller is heard,  
Restraining rampant squirrel  
Or too impetuous bird.           
 
How fair her conversation,    
A summer afternoon,—                  10
Her household, her assembly;
And when the sun goes down           
 
Her voice among the aisles    
Incites the timid prayer          
Of the minutest cricket,                  15
The most unworthy flower.   
 
When all the children sleep    
She turns as long away          
As will suffice to light her lamps;      
Then, bending from the sky,           20
 
With infinite affection           
And infiniter care,      
Her golden finger on her lip,  
Wills silence everywhere.

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