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Funny—to be a Century—
And see the People—going by—
I—should die of the Oddity—
But then—I'm not so staid—as He—
He keeps His Secrets safely—very—
Were He to tell—extremely sorry
This Bashful Globe of Ours would be—
So dainty of Publicity—
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- There Is No Frigate Like A Book
- Crumbling Is Not An Instant's Act
- Sunset At Night—is Natural
- Bless God, He Went As Soldiers
- As If Some Little Arctic Flower
