Apotheosis

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XVIII. APOTHEOSIS.

Come slowly, Eden !
Lips unused to thee,
Bashful, sip thy jasmines,
As the fainting bee,

Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums,
Counts his nectars — enters,
And is lost in balms !


 
from Poems by Emily Dickinson (1890)
The Wife "New feet within my garden go" Movbook.gif


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