Emily Dickinson

Precious To Me she Still Shall Be

poem 727

Precious to Me She still shall be Though She forget the name I bear The fashion of the Gown I wear The very Color of My Hair So like the Meadows now I dared to show a Tress of Theirs If haply She might not despise A Buttercup’s Array I know the Whole obscures the Part The fraction that appeased the Heart Till Number’s Empery Remembered as the Millner’s flower When Summer’s Everlasting Dower Confronts the dazzled Bee.

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