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From Cocoon forth a Butterfly by Emily Dickinson

From Cocoon forth a Butterfly

As Lady from her Door

Emerged—a Summer Afternoon—

Repairing Everywhere—

Without Design—that I could trace

Except to stray abroad

On Miscellaneous Enterprise

The Clovers—understood—

Her pretty Parasol be seen

Contracting in a Field

Where Men made Hay—

Then struggling hard

With an opposing Cloud—

Where Parties—Phantom as Herself—

To Nowhere—seemed to go

In purposeless Circumference—

As ’twere a Tropic Show—

And notwithstanding Bee—that worked—

And Flower—that zealous blew—

This Audience of Idleness

Disdained them, from the Sky—

Till Sundown crept—a steady Tide—

And Men that made the Hay—

And Afternoon—and Butterfly—

Extinguished—in the Sea—

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