Page:Emily Dickinson Poems - second series (1891).djvu/132

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EFORE you thought of spring,
 * Except as a surmise,

You see, God bless his suddenness, A fellow in the skies Of independent hues, A little weather-worn, Inspiriting habiliments Of indigo and brown.

With specimens of song, As if for you to choose, Discretion in the interval, With gay delays he goes To some superior tree Without a single leaf, And shouts for joy to nobody But his seraphic self!