40
When I count the seeds
That are sown beneath,
To bloom so, bye and bye—
When I con the people
Lain so low,
To be received as high—
When I believe the garden
Mortal shall not see—
Pick by faith its blossom
And avoid its Bee,
I can spare this summer, unreluctantly.
Emily Dickinson
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-i-count-the-seeds/
