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In case you were, like I was, shepherding Cub Scouts around on Saturday and missed the Prairie Home Companion broadcast, here’s a link to the Guy Noir send-up of Emily Dickinson. As expected, it’s pretty good. If you like that kind of thing. Which not everyone does.

(SHE SINGS) (TO “EVERYTHING’S COMING UP ROSES”)

I stay home. Every night.
I go around dressed in white!
I write poems — secretly—
And tonight I will get out of Amherst!

Bring my horse!! Bring a mask—
I’m not going to tell so don’t ask—
I am thrilled — goodness me—
I am going to meet Henry at Walden.

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GONE.Went up a year this evening!
I recollect it well!
Amid no bells nor bravos
The bystanders will tell!
Cheerful, as to the village,
Tranquil, as to repose,
Chastened, as to the chapel,
This humble tourist rose.
Did not talk of returning,
Alluded to no time
When, were the gales propitious,
We might look for him;
Was grateful for the roses
In life’s diverse bouquet,
Talked softly of new species
To pick another day.

Beguiling thus the wonder,
The wondrous nearer drew;
Hands bustled at the moorings –
The crowd respectful grew.
Ascended from our vision
To countenances new!
A difference, a daisy,
Is all the rest I knew!

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Essential oils are wrungEssential oils are wrung:
The attar from the rose
Is not expressed by suns alone,
It is the gift of screws.

The general rose decays;
But this, in lady’s drawer,
Makes summer when the lady lies
In ceaseless rosemary.

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FOLLOWING.I had no cause to be awake,
My best was gone to sleep,
And morn a new politeness took,
And failed to wake them up,

But called the others clear,
And passed their curtains by.
Sweet morning, when I over-sleep,
Knock, recollect, for me!

I looked at sunrise once,
And then I looked at them,
And wishfulness in me arose
For circumstance the same.

‘T was such an ample peace,
It could not hold a sigh, –
‘T was Sabbath with the bells divorced,
‘T was sunset all the day.

So choosing but a gown
And taking but a prayer,
The only raiment I should need,
I struggled, and was there.

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THE BATTLE-FIELD.They dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars,
Like petals from a rose,
When suddenly across the June
A wind with fingers goes.

They perished in the seamless grass, –
No eye could find the place;
But God on his repealless list
Can summon every face.

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Morns like these we partedMorns like these we parted;
Noons like these she rose,
Fluttering first, then firmer,
To her fair repose.

Never did she lisp it,
And ‘t was not for me;
She was mute from transport,
I, from agony!

Till the evening, nearing,
One the shutters drew –
Quick! a sharper rustling!
And this linnet flew!

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FRINGED GENTIAN.

FRINGED GENTIAN.God made a little gentian;
It tried to be a rose
And failed, and all the summer laughed.
But just before the snows
There came a purple creature
That ravished all the hill;
And summer hid her forehead,
And mockery was still.
The frosts were her condition;
The Tyrian would not come
Until the North evoked it.
“Creator! shall I bloom?”

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A TEMPEST.

A TEMPEST.An awful tempest mashed the air,
The clouds were gaunt and few;
A black, as of a spectre’s cloak,
Hid heaven and earth from view.

The creatures chuckled on the roofs
And whistled in the air,
And shook their fists and gnashed their teeth.
And swung their frenzied hair.

The morning lit, the birds arose;
The monster’s faded eyes
Turned slowly to his native coast,
And peace was Paradise!

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