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I robbed the Woods—
The trusting Woods.
The unsuspecting Trees
Brought out their Burs and mosses
My fantasy to please.
I scanned their trinkets curious—I grasped—I bore away—
What will the solemn Hemlock—
What will the Oak tree say?
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- If The Foolish, Call Them "Flowers"
- I Learned—at Least—what Home Could Be
- How The Waters Closed Above Him
- Robbed By Death—but That Was Easy
- Myself Was Formed—a Carpenter
