Summer for thee, grant I may be

Emily Dickinson

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31

Summer for thee, grant I may be
When Summer days are flown!
Thy music still, when Whippoorwill
And Oriole—are done!

For thee to bloom, I'll skip the tomb
And row my blossoms o'er!
Pray gather me—
Anemone—
Thy flower—forevermore!

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