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There are two Ripenings—one—of sight—
Whose forces Spheric wind
Until the Velvet product
Drop spicy to the ground—
A homelier maturing—
A process in the Bur—
That teeth of Frosts alone disclose
In far October Air.
Emily Dickinson
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/there-are-two-ripenings-one-of-sight/
