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Read more poems by Emily Dickinson: Emily Dickinson Poems at Poetry X.

35

Nobody knows this little Rose—
It might a pilgrim be
Did I not take it from the ways
And lift it up to thee.
Only a Bee will miss it—
Only a Butterfly,
Hastening from far journey—
On its breast to lie—
Only a Bird will wonder—
Only a Breeze will sigh—
Ah Little Rose—how easy
For such as thee to die!

Added: 12 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 30 Aug 2008 3:55 PM | Viewed: 7364 times

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