Poem

A science—so the Savants say

Emily Dickinson
100 A science—so the Savants say, "Comparative Anatomy"— By which a single bone— Is made a secret to unfold Of some rare tenant of the mold, Else perished in the stone— So to the eye prospective led, This meekest flower of the mead Upon a winter's day, Stands representative in gold Of Rose and Lily, manifold, And countless Butterfly!

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