Emily Dickinson

He Parts Himself like Leaves

poem 517

He parts Himself like Leaves And then He closes up Then stands upon the Bonnet Of Any Buttercup And then He runs against And oversets a Rose And then does Nothing Then away upon a Jib He goes And dangles like a Mote Suspended in the Noon Uncertain to return Below Or settle in the Moon What come of Him at Night The privilege to say Be limited by Ignorance What come of Him That Day The Frost possess the World In Cabinets be shown A Sepulchre of quaintest Floss An Abbey a Cocoon

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