Emily Dickinson

In Winter In My Room

poem 1670

In Winter in my Room I came upon a Worm Pink, lank and warm But as he was a worm And worms presume Not quite with him at home Secured him by a string To something neighboring And went along. A Trifle afterward A thing occurred I’d not believe it if I heard But state with creeping blood A snake with mottles rare Surveyed my chamber floor In feature as the worm before But ringed with power The very string with which I tied him too When he was mean and new That string was there I shrank How fair you are! Propitiation’s claw Afraid, he hissed Of me? No cordiality He fathomed me Then to a Rhythm Slim Secreted in his Form As Patterns swim Projected him. That time I flew Both eyes his way Lest he pursue Nor ever ceased to run Till in a distant Town Towns on from mine I set me down This was a dream.

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