785
They have a little Odor—that to me
Is metre—nay—'tis melody—
And spiciest at fading—indicate—
A Habit—of a Laureate—
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- I'M Sorry For The Dead—today
- This Dust, And Its Feature
- Who Giants Know, With Lesser Men
- Of Consciousness, Her Awful Mate
- To Flee From Memory
