Emily Dickinson

To the bright east she flies,

To the bright east she flies,
Brothers of Paradise
Remit her home,
Without a change of wings,
Or Love’s convenient things,
Enticed to come.
 
Fashioning what she is,
Fathoming what she was,
We deem we dream -
And that dissolves the days
Through which existence strays
Homeless at home.
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