It dropped so low in my regard
I heard it hit the ground,
And go to pieces on the stones
At bottom of my mind;
Yet blamed the fate that fractured, less
Than I reviled myself
For entertaining plated wares
Upon my silver shelf.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- It Tossed—and Tossed
- I Cannot Dance Upon My Toes
- work For Immortality
- 'Twas Warm—at First—like Us
- It Was A Grave, Yet Bore No Stone