Poems by Emily Dickinson | ||
40
[XXVI. The brain within its groove]
The brain within its grooveRuns evenly and true;
But let a splinter swerve,
'T were easier for you
To put the water back
When floods have slit the hills,
And scooped a turnpike for themselves,
And blotted out the mills!
Poems by Emily Dickinson | ||