Emily Dickinson

There’s Something Quieter Than Sleep

poem 45

There’s something quieter than sleep Within this inner room! It wears a sprig upon its breast And will not tell its name. Some touch it, and some kiss it Some chafe its idle hand It has a simple gravity I do not understand! I would not weep if I were they How rude in one to sob! Might scare the quiet fairy Back to her native wood! While simple-hearted neighbors Chat of the Early dead We prone to periphrasis Remark that Birds have fled!

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