46
I keep my pledge.
I was not called—
Death did not notice me.
I bring my Rose.
I plight again,
By every sainted Bee—
By Daisy called from hillside—
by Bobolink from lane.
Blossom and I—
Her oath, and mine—
Will surely come again.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- I Know Where Wells Grow—droughtless Wells
- Morning—is The Place For Dew
- Patience—has A Quiet Outer
- I Made Slow Riches But My Gain
- He Put The Belt Around My Life
