 | Poems by Emily Dickinson |  |
125
XVI.
REFUGE.
The clouds their backs together laid,The north begun to push,
The forests galloped till they fell,
The lightning skipped like mice;
The thunder crumbled like a stuff—
How good to be safe in tombs,
Where nature's temper cannot reach,
Nor vengeance ever comes!
| Poems by Emily Dickinson | |