I went to heaven,--
'T was a small town,
Lit with a ruby,
Lathed with down.
Stiller than the fields
At the full dew,
Beautiful as pictures
No man drew.
People like the moth,
Of mechlin, frames,
Duties of gossamer,
And eider names.
Almost contented
I could be
'Mong such unique
Society.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Who Never Lost, Are Unprepared
- I Could Not Prove The Years Had Feet
- Great Caesar! Condescend
- So Well That I Can Live Without
- To Interrupt His Yellow Plan