What shall I do when the Summer Troubles – Emily Dickinson 

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What shall I do when the Summer troubles—

What, when the Rose is ripe—

What when the Eggs fly off in Music

From the Maple Keep?
What shall I do when the Skies a’chirrup

Drop a Tune on me—

When the Bee hangs all Noon in the Buttercup

What will become of me?
Oh, when the Squirrel fills His Pockets

And the Berries stare

How can I bear their jocund Faces

Thou from Here, so far?
‘Twouldn’t afflict a Robin—

All His Goods have Wings—

I—do not fly, so wherefore

My Perennial Things?