The Poems of Emily Dickinson: Series One
Nature, Poem 15: The Bee
by Emily Dickinson
Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
I like to see it lap the miles
As imperceptibly as grief
The gentian weaves her fringes
O lest the world should task you to recite
Being your slave what should I do but tend
Unto my books so good to turn
Aunt Chloe approaches Mrs. Shelby with a plan to get Uncle Tom back.
To learn the transport by the pain
Before I got my eye put out
It tossed and tossed, —
He put the belt around my life, —
O that you were your self, but love you are
The author's valentine to his wife.
Each life converges to some centre
Farther in summer than the birds
‘Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed
An altered look about the hills;
I died for beauty, but was scarce
The way I read a letter s' this:
Pigmy seraphs gone astray
No longer mourn for me when I am dead
The daisy follows soft the sun
I gave myself to him
The mushroom is the elf of plants