by Emily Dickinson
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American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
< < < Indian Summer
Is Heaven a physician? > > >
Invisible
From us she wandered now a year,
Her tarrying unknown;
If wilderness prevent her feet,
Or that ethereal zone
No eye hath seen and lived,
We ignorant must be.
We only know what time of year
We took the mystery.
< < < Indian Summer
Is Heaven a physician? > > >
American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
Copyright holders – Public Domain
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