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

153

Dust is the only Secret—
Death, the only One
You cannot find out all about
In his "native town."

Nobody know "his Father"—
Never was a Boy—
Hadn't any playmates,
Or "Early history"—

Industrious! Laconic!
Punctual! Sedate!
Bold as a Brigand!
Stiller than a Fleet!

Builds, like a Bird, too!
Christ robs the Nest—
Robin after Robin
Smuggled to Rest!

Added: 19 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 5:29 PM | Viewed: 9735 times

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