Pink, small, and punctual,
Aromatic, low,
Covert in April,
Candid in May,
Dear to the moss,
Known by the knoll,
Next to the robin
In every human soul.
Bold little beauty,
Bedecked with thee,
Nature forswears
Antiquity.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- They Leave Us With The Infinite
- What Would I Give To See His Face?
- Whose Are The Little Beds, I Asked
- I Found The Phrase To Every Thought
- The Future—never Spoke