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A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw.
And then he drank a dew From a convenient grass, And then hopped sidewise to the wall To let a beetle pass.
He glanced with rapid eyes That hurried all abroad,-- They looked like frightened beads, I thought; He stirred his velvet head
Like one in danger; cautious, I offered him a crumb, And he unrolled his feathers And rowed him softer home
Than oars divide the ocean, Too silver for a seam, Or butterflies, off banks of noon, Leap, splashless, as they swim.
Emily Dickinson
Read poems about / on: ocean, silver, home, butterfly, swimming
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