Of Brussels—it was not—
Of Kidderminster? Nay—
The Winds did buy it of the Woods—
They—sold it unto me
It was a gentle price—
The poorest—could afford—
It was within the frugal purse
Of Beggar—or of Bird—
Of small and spicy Yards—
In hue—a mellow Dun—
Of Sunshine—and of Sere—Composed—
But, principally—of Sun—
The Wind—unrolled it fast—
And spread it on the Ground—
Upholsterer of the Pines—is He—
Upholsterer—of the Pond—
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Ideals Are The Fairly Oil
- Soil Of Flint, If Steady Tilled
- The Night Was Wide, And Furnished Scant
- I Sing To Use The Waiting
- There Is A Shame Of Nobleness