 | Poems by Emily Dickinson |  |
75
[VII. The bee is not afraid of me]
The bee is not afraid of me,
I know the butterfly;
The pretty people in the woods
Receive me cordially.
I know the butterfly;
The pretty people in the woods
Receive me cordially.
The brooks laugh louder when I come,
The breezes madder play.
Wherefore, mine eyes, thy silver mists?
Wherefore, O summer's day?
The breezes madder play.
Wherefore, mine eyes, thy silver mists?
Wherefore, O summer's day?
| Poems by Emily Dickinson | |