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The white flowers are full of honey;
Butterflies and bees suck at them;
The unseen wind comes rushing like a presence that the heart feels only;
The white flowers press together before it in a soft tumult, and shake out fragrance like censers;
But the bees and the butterflies cling to them blowing.
The crickets chirp in the green roof of the houses unceasingly,
Like clocks which have told off the past and will tell off the future.

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More Articles by This Author Mary E. Wilkins

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Mary E. Wilkins

  • Full name was Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman
  • American author
  • Born in Randolph, Massachusetts on October 31, 1852
  • Died on March 13, 1930
  • Worked as secretary Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
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