To my quick ear the leaves conferred;
The bushes they were bells;
I could not find a privacy
From Nature's sentinels.
In cave if I presumed to hide,
The walls began to tell;
Creation seemed a mighty crack
To make me visible.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Two Travellers Perishing In Snow
- You Constituted Time
- The Sky Is Low, The Clouds Are Mean,
- She Rose To His Requirement
- To Venerate The Simple Days