Poems by Emily Dickinson, Series One by Emily Dickinson
page 43 of 92 (46%)
page 43 of 92 (46%)
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III. WHY? THE murmur of a bee A witchcraft yieldeth me. If any ask me why, 'T were easier to die Than tell. The red upon the hill Taketh away my will; If anybody sneer, Take care, for God is here, That's all. The breaking of the day Addeth to my degree; If any ask me how, Artist, who drew me so, Must tell! IV. Perhaps you'd like to buy a flower? But I could never sell. |
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