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My first well Day-since many ill-
I asked to go abroad,
And take the Sunshine in my hands,
And see the things in Pod-
A 'blossom just when I went in
To take my Chance with pain-
Uncertain if myself, or He,
Should prove the strongest One.
The Summer deepened, while we strove-
She put some flowers away-
And Redder cheeked Ones-in their stead-
A fond-illusive way-
To cheat Herself, it seemed she tried-
As if before a child
To fade-Tomorrow-Rainbows held
The Sepulchre, could hide.
She dealt a fashion to the Nut-
She tied the Hoods to Seeds-
She dropped bright scraps of Tint, about-
And left Brazilian Threads
On every shoulder that she met-
Then both her Hands of Haze
Put up-to hide her parting Grace
From our unfitted eyes.
My loss, by sickness-Was it Loss?
Or that Ethereal Gain
One earns by measuring the Grave-
Then-measuring the Sun-
My First Well Day'since Many Ill
Emily Dickinson
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Poem topics: away, child, pain, summer, sun, sunshine, bright, sickness, chance, fashion, grave, tomorrow, prove, ethereal, shoulder, Valentine's Day, gain, loss, hide, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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