434
To love thee Year by Year—
May less appear
Than sacrifice, and cease—
However, dear,
Forever might be short, I thought to show—
And so I pieced it, with a flower, now.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- It Troubled Me As Once I Was
- Sweet—you Forgot—but I Remembered
- Give Little Anguish
- Nature The Gentlest Mother Is
- You Know That Portrait In The Moon