Читать книгу The Complete Poetry of Emily Dickinson - Эмили Дикинсон - Страница 13

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Within my reach!

I could have touched!

I might have chanced that way!

Soft sauntered through the village,

Sauntered as soft away!

So unsuspected violets

Within the fields lie low,

Too late for striving fingers

That passed, an hour ago.