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Classic poem

How Human Nature dotes

by Emily Dickinson

How Human Nature dotes

On what it can't detect.

The moment that a Plot is plumbed

Prospective is extinct --

Prospective is the friend

Reserved for us to know

When Constancy is clarified

Of Curiosity --

Of subjects that resist

Redoubtablest is this

Where go we --

Go we anywhere

Creation after this?

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