Читать книгу The Complete Poetry of Emily Dickinson - Эмили Дикинсон - Страница 59

Table of Contents

The bee is not afraid of me,

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?