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