A Dew sufficed itself —

- Written by Emily Dickinson.

A Dew sufficed itself — And satisfied a Leaf And felt "how vast a destiny" — "How trivial is Life!"

The Sun went out to work — The Day went out to play And not again that Dew be seen By Physiognomy

Whether by Day Abducted Or emptied by the Sun Into the Sea in passing Eternally unknown

Attested to this Day That awful Tragedy By Transport's instability And Doom's celerity.