Read more poems by Emily Dickinson: Emily Dickinson Poems at Poetry X.
525 I think the Hemlock likes to stand Upon a Marge of Snow— It suits his own Austerity— And satisfies an awe That men, must slake in Wilderness— And in the Desert—cloy— An instinct for the Hoar, the Bald— Lapland's—necessity— The Hemlock's nature thrives—on cold— The Gnash of Northern winds Is sweetest nutriment—to him— His best Norwegian Wines— To satin Races—he is nought— But Children on the Don, Beneath his Tabernacles, play, And Dnieper Wrestlers, run.
Added: 19 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 4:53 PM | Viewed: 8410 times
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Emily Dickinson
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