Emily Dickinson

I Know Where Wells Grow droughtless Wells

poem 460

I know where Wells grow Droughtless Wells Deep dug for Summer days Where Mosses go no more away And Pebble safely plays It’s made of Fathoms and a Belt A Belt of jagged Stone Inlaid with Emerald half way down And Diamonds jumbled on It has no Bucket Were I rich A Bucket I would buy I’m often thirsty but my lips Are so high up You see I read in an Old fashioned Book That People thirst no more The Wells have Buckets to them there It must mean that I’m sure Shall We remember Parching then? Those Waters sound so grand I think a little Well like Mine Dearer to understand

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