Emily Dickinson Poems

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How fits his Umber Coat
The Tailor of the Nut?
Combined without a seam
Like Raiment of a Dream --

Who spun the Auburn Cloth?
Computed how the girth?
The Chestnut aged grows
In those primeval Clothes --

We know that we are wise --
Accomplished in Surprise --
Yet by this Countryman --
This nature -- how undone!

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