"... I cannot meet the Spring unmoved --
I feel the old desire --
A Hurry with a lingering, mixed,
A Warrant to be fair --
A Competition in my sense
With something hid in Her --
And as she vanishes, Remorse
I saw no more of Her ..."
Emily Dickinson
dame's rocket ...
Posted on May 26, 2008 by Judith Meskill
















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