Читать книгу The Complete Poetry of Emily Dickinson - Эмили Дикинсон - Страница 32

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The brain within its groove

Runs evenly and true;

But let a splinter swerve,

'T were easier for you

To put the water back

When floods have slit the hills,

And scooped a turnpike for themselves,

And blotted out the mills!