A Field Of Stubble, Lying Sere

Emily Dickinson

1407

A Field of Stubble, lying sere
Beneath the second Sun—
Its Toils to Brindled People thrust—
Its Triumphs—to the Bin—
Accosted by a timid Bird
Irresolute of Alms—
Is often seen—but seldom felt,
On our New England Farms—

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