All Overgrown by Cunning Moss by Emily Dickinson
All overgrown by cunning moss,All interspersed with weed,
The little cage of "Currer Bell"
In quiet "Haworth" laid.
This Bird - observing others
When frosts too sharp became
Retire to other latitudes -
Quietly did the same -
But differed in returning -
Since Yorkshire hills are green -
Yet not in all the nests I meet -
Can Nightingale be seen -
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