Page:Emily Dickinson Poems (1890).djvu/85

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On fence and roof and twig.
The orchis binds her feather on
For her old love, Don the Sun,
Revisiting the bog !

Without commander, countless, still,
The regiment of wood and hill
In bright detachment stand.
Behold !  Whose multitudes are these ?
The children of whose turbaned seas,
Or what Circassian land ?