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| I bring an unaccustomed wine
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| Written by: | Emily Dickinson (other works)
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| Poem #: | 132
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| Published: |
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| Volume: |
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| Language: | English
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| Type: | Poetry
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| Form: |
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| Rhyme: |
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| Preceded by: | Besides the Autumn poets sing -131-
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| Succeeded by: | As Children bid the Guest "Good Night" -133-
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Wikipedia article
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I bring an unaccustomed wine
To lips long parching
Next to mine,
And summon them to drink;
Crackling with fever, they Essay,
I turn my brimming eyes away,
And come next hour to look.
The hands still hug the tardy glass --
The lips I would have cooled, alas --
Are so superfluous Cold --
I would as soon attempt to warm
The bosoms where the frost has lain
Ages beneath the mould --
Some other thirsty there may be
To whom this would have pointed me
Had it remained to speak --
And so I always bear the cup
If, haply, mine may be the drop
Some pilgrim thirst to slake --
If, haply, any say to me
"Unto the little, unto me,"
When I at last awake.
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