A daily poem from the complete works of Emily Dickinson.
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Tho’ my destiny be Fustian –
Hers be damask fine –
Tho’ she wear a silver apron –
I, a less divine –
Still, my little Gypsy being
I would far prefer,
Still, my little sunburnt bosom
To her Rosier,
For, when Frosts, their punctual fingers
On her forehead lay,
You and I, and Dr. Holland,
Bloom Eternally!
Roses of a steadfast summer
In a steadfast land,
Where no Autumn lifts her pencil –
And no Reapers stand!
Tags: apron, autumn, bloom, bosom, damask, destiny, divine, eternally, fine, finger, forehead, frosts, fustian, gypsy, land, little, pencil, prefer, punctual, reapers, roses, rosier, silver, steadfast, summer, sunburt, wear
Dust is the only Secret –
Death, the only One
You cannot find out all about
In his “native town.”
Nobody know “his Father” –
Never was a Boy –
Hadn’t any playmates,
Or “Early history” –
Industrious! Laconic!
Punctual! Sedate!
Bold as a Brigand!
Stiller than a Fleet!
Builds, like a Bird, too!
Christ robs the Nest –
Robin after Robin
Smuggled to Rest!
Tags: bird, bold, boy, brigand, christ, death, dust, father, fleet, history, industrial, laconic, native, nest, playmates, punctual, robin, secret, sedate, smuggled, stiller, town
