SONG - Emily Dickinson Poems


Poems » emily dickinson » song


Nay but you, who do not love her,
     Is she not pure gold, my mistress?
Holds earth aught --- speak truth --- above her?
     Aught like this tress, see, and this tress,
And this last fairest tress of all,
So fair, see, ere I let it fall?

Because, you spend your lives in praising;
     To praise, you search the wide world over:
Then why not witness, calmly gazing,
     If earth holds aught --- speak truth --- above her?
Above this tress, and this, I touch
But cannot praise, I love so much!