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Classic poem

Musicians wrestle everywhere

by Emily Dickinson

Musicians wrestle everywhere --

All day -- among the crowded air

I hear the silver strife --

And -- walking -- long before the morn --

Such transport breaks upon the town

I think it that "New Life"!

If is not Bird -- it has no nest --

Nor "Band" -- in brass and scarlet -- drest --

Nor Tamborin -- nor Man --

It is not Hymn from pulpit read --

The "Morning Stars" the Treble led

On Time's first Afternoon!

Some -- say -- it is "the Spheres" -- at play!

Some say that bright Majority

Of vanished Dames -- and Men!

Some -- think it service in the place

Where we -- with late -- celestial face --

Please God -- shall Ascertain!

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Public domain/Source

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