She hideth Her the last lyrics

by

Emily Dickinson


557

She hideth Her the last
And is the first, to rise
Her Night doth hardly recompense
The Closing of Her eyes

She doth Her Purple Work
And putteth Her away
In low Apartments in the Sod
As worthily as We

To imitate her life
As impotent would be
As make of Our imperfect Mints
The Julep—of the Bee
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