Sexton! My Master’s sleeping here.
Pray lead me to his bed!
I came to build the Bird’s nest,
And sow the Early seed –
That when the snow creeps slowly
From off his chamber door –
Daisies point the way there –
And the Troubadour.

A daily poem from the complete works of Emily Dickinson.
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Sexton! My Master’s sleeping here.
Pray lead me to his bed!
I came to build the Bird’s nest,
And sow the Early seed –
That when the snow creeps slowly
From off his chamber door –
Daisies point the way there –
And the Troubadour.
Tags: bed, bird, chamber, daisies, door, master, nest, seed, sexton, sleeping, snow, troubadour
Her breast is fit for pearls,
But I was not a “Diver” –
Her brow is fit for thrones
But I have not a crest.
Her heart is fit for home –
I — a Sparrow — build there
Sweet of twigs and twine
My perennial nest.
Tags: breast, crest, diver, heart, home, nest, pearls, sparrow, thrones, twigs, twine
It did not surprise me –
So I said — or thought –
She will stir her pinions
And the nest forgot,
Traverse broader forests –
Build in gayer boughs,
Breathe in Ear more modern
God’s old fashioned vows –
This was but a Birdling –
What and if it be
One within my bosom
Had departed me?
This was but a story –
What and if indeed
There were just such coffin
In the heart instead?