 | Poems by Emily Dickinson |  |
31
XVII.
DAWN.
When night is almost done,
And sunrise grows so near
That we can touch the spaces,
It 's time to smooth the hair
And sunrise grows so near
That we can touch the spaces,
It 's time to smooth the hair
And get the dimples ready,
And wonder we could care
For that old faded midnight
That frightened but an hour.
And wonder we could care
For that old faded midnight
That frightened but an hour.
| Poems by Emily Dickinson | |