450
Dreams—are well—but Waking's better,
If One wake at morn—
If One wake at Midnight—better—
Dreaming—of the Dawn—
Sweeter—the Surmising Robins—
Never gladdened Tree—
Than a Solid Dawn—confronting—
Leading to no Day—
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- As Far From Pity, As Complaint
- A Transport One Cannot Contain
- Despair's Advantage Is Achieved
- How Happy I Was If I Could Forget
- Do People Moulder Equally
