My Cocoon tightens — Colors
teaze —
I'm feeling for the Air —
A dim capacity for Wings
Demeans the Dress I wear —
A power of Butterly must be —
The aptitude to fly
Meadows of Majesty concedes
And easy Sweeps of Sky —
So I must baffle at the Hint
And cipher at the Sign
And make much blunder, if at last
I take the clue divine
: emily dickinson, #1099; the complete poems of emily dickinson
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