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A Dew sufficed itself—
Emily Dickinson
1437 A Dew sufficed itself— And satisfied a Leaf And felt “how vast a destiny”— “How trivial is Life!” The Sun went out to work— The Day went out to play And not again that Dew be seen By Physiognomy Whether by Day Abducted Or emptied by the Sun Into the Sea in passing Eternally unknown Attested to this Day That awful Tragedy By Transport’s instability And Doom’s celerity.
