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 A Field of Stubble, lying sere by Emily Dickinson 
						A Field of Stubble, lying sereBeneath the second Sun --
 Its Toils to Brindled People thrust --
 Its Triumphs -- to the Bin --
 Accosted by a timid Bird
 Irresolute of Alms --
 Is often seen -- but seldom felt,
 On our New England Farms --
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