His Feet are shod with Gauze —
His Feet are shod with Gauze —
His Helmet, is of Gold,
His Breast, a Single Onyx
With Chrysophrase, inlaid.
His Labor is a Chant —
His Idleness — a Tune —
Oh, for a Bee's experience
Of Clovers, and of Noon!
More poems by Emily Dickinson
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Because I could not stop for Death —
Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves— … -
There is a pain — so utter —
There is a pain — so utter —
It swallows substance up —
Then covers the Abyss with Trance — … -
A charm invests a face
A charm invests a face
Imperfectly beheld.
The lady dare not lift her veil … -
There came a Wind like a Bugle —
There came a Wind like a Bugle —
It quivered through the Grass
And a Green Chill upon the Heat …