Read more poems by Emily Dickinson: Emily Dickinson Poems at Poetry X.
517 He parts Himself—like Leaves— And then—He closes up— Then stands upon the Bonnet Of Any Buttercup— And then He runs against And oversets a Rose— And then does Nothing— Then away upon a Jib—He goes— And dangles like a Mote Suspended in the Noon— Uncertain—to return Below— Or settle in the Moon— What come of Him—at Night— The privilege to say Be limited by Ignorance— What come of Him—That Day— The Frost—possess the World— In Cabinets—be shown— A Sepulchre of quaintest Floss— An Abbey—a Cocoon—
Added: 19 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 15 Oct 2008 11:07 PM | Viewed: 5215 times
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Emily Dickinson
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