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Read the poem: “Essential oils are wrung”

by Emily Dickinson

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American LiteratureAmerican PoetryEmily Dickinson
< < < Escape
Eternity > > >


Essential oils are wrung


Essential 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.


< < < Escape
Eternity > > >

American LiteratureAmerican PoetryEmily Dickinson



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