Emily Dickinson

The Judge Is Like The Owl

poem 699

The Judge is like the Owl I’ve heard my Father tell And Owls do build in Oaks So here’s an Amber Sill That slanted in my Path When going to the Barn And if it serve You for a House Itself is not in vain About the price ’tis small I only ask a Tune At Midnight Let the Owl select His favorite Refrain.

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