805
This Bauble was preferred of Bees—
By Butterflies admired
At Heavenly—Hopeless Distances—
Was justified of Bird—
Did Noon—enamel—in Herself
Was Summer to a Score
Who only knew of Universe—
It had created Her.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Mute Thy Coronation
- I Noticed People Disappeared
- Shall I take thee, the Poet said
- In Snow Thou Comest
- There's Something Quieter Than Sleep
