A Spider sewed at Night
Without a Light
Upon an Arc of White.
If Ruff it was of Dame
Or Shroud of Gnome
Himself himself inform.
Of Immortality
His Strategy
Was Physiognomy.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Tell as a Marksman - were forgotten
- Glory is that bright tragic thing
- His voice decrepit was with Joy
- Whose Pink career may have a close
- Escape is such a thankful Word