A Solemn thing within the Soul To feel itself get ripe - And golden hang - while farther up - The Maker's Ladders stop - And in the Orchard far below - You hear a Being - drop - A Wonderful - to feel the Sun Still toiling at the Cheek You thought was finished - Cool of eye, and critical of Work - He shifts the stem - a little - To give your Core - a look -
But solemnest - to know Your chance in Harvest moves A little nearer - Every Sun The Single - to some lives.
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