Phraseless, yet it stirs

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It's like the light -

A fashionless delight,

It's like the bee -

A dateless melody.

It's like the woods,

Private like breeze,

Phraseless, yet it stirs

The proudest trees.

It's like the morning, -

Best when it's done, -

The everlasting clocks

Chime noon.

Emily Dickinson