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How many Flowers fail in Wood—
Or perish from the Hill—
Without the privilege to know
That they are Beautiful—
How many cast a nameless Pod
Upon the nearest Breeze—
Unconscious of the Scarlet Freight—
It bear to Other Eyes—
How Many Flowers Fail In Wood
Emily Dickinson
(1)
Poem topics: beautiful, privilege, perish, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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