114
Good night, because we must,
How intricate the dust!
I would go, to know!
Oh incognito!
Saucy, Saucy Seraph
To elude me so!
Father! they won't tell me,
Won't you tell them to?
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- The Good Will Of A Flower
- Our Share Of Night To Bear
- Joy To Have Merited The Pain
- Said Death To Passion
- Their Height In Heaven Comforts Not