890
From Us She wandered now a Year,
Her tarrying, unknown,
If Wilderness prevent her feet
Or that Ethereal Zone
No eye hath seen and lived
We ignorant must be—
We only know what time of Year
We took the Mystery.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- The Moon Was But A Chin Of Gold
- Inconceivably Solemn!
- If I Should Die
- It Dropped So Low In My Regard
- It Tossed—and Tossed
