large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb_75
large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb
English
7245
"Hush! Epigea wakens!    The crocus stirs her lids, Rhodora's cheek is crimson,    She's dreaming of the woods." Then, turning from them, reverent, "Their bed time 't is," she said; "The bumble bees will wake them When April woods are red." HUSH EPIGEA WAKENS THE CROCUS STIRS HER LIDS RHODORA'S CHEEK IS CRIMSON SHE'S DREAMING OF THE WOODS THENING FROM THEM REVERENT THEIR BEDTIME TIS SHE SAID THE BUMBLE BEES WILL WAKE THEM WHEN APRIL WOODS ARE RED
e in the dawn; A deeper twilight on the lawn; A print of a vermilion foot; A purple finger on the slope; A flippant fly upon the pane; A spider at his trade again; An added strut in chanticleer; A flower expected everywhere; An axe shrill singing in the woods; Fern-odors on untravelled roads, -- All this, and more I cannot tell, A furtive look you know as well, And Nicodemus' mystery Receives its annual reply. X. THE SLEEPING FLOWERS. "Whose are the little beds," I asked, "Which in the valleys lie?" Some shook their heads, and others smiled, And no one made reply. "Perhaps they did not hear," I said; "I will inquire again. Whose are the beds, the tiny beds So thick upon the plain?" "'T is daisy in the shortest; A little farther on, Nearest the door to wake the first, Little leontodon. "'T is iris, sir, and aster, Anemone and bell, Batschia in the blanket red, And chubby daffodil." Meanwhile at many cradles Her busy foot she plied, Humming the quaintest lullaby That ever rocked a child.  HILLS A TYRIAN LIGHT THE VILLAGE FILLS A WIDER SUNRISE IN THE DAWN A DEEPER TWILIGHT ON THE LAWN A PRINT OF A VERMILION FOOT A PURPLE FINGER ON THE SLOPE A FLIPPANT FLY UPON THE PANE A SPIDER AT HIS TRADE AGAIN AN ADDED STRUT IN CHANTICLEER A FLOWER EXPECTED EVERYWHERE AN AXE SHRILL SINGING IN THE WOODS FERN ODORS ON UNTRAVELLED ROADS ALL THIS AND MORE I CANNOT TELL A FURTIVE LOOK YOU KNOW AS WELL AND NICODEMUS MYSTERY RECEIVES ITS ANNUAL REPLY TEN THE SLEEPING FLOWERS WHOSE ARE THE LITTLE BEDS I ASKED WHICH IN THE VALLEYS LIE SOME SHOOK THEIR HEADS AND OTHERS SMILED AND NO ONE MADE REPLY PERHAPS THEY DID NOT HEAR I SAID I WILL INQUIRE AGAIN WHOSE ARE THE BEDS THE TINY BEDS SO THICK UPON THE PLAIN TIS DAISY IN THE SHORTEST A LITTLE FARTHER ON NEAREST THE DOOR TO WAKE THE FIRST LITTLE LEONIDADON TIS IRIS SIR AND ASTOR ANEMONNE AND BELL BATHSHEA IN THE BLANKET RED AND CHUBBY DAFFODIL MEANWHILE AT MANY CRADLES HER BUSY FOOT SHE PLIED HUMMING THE QUAINTEST LULLABY THAT EVER ROCKED A CHILD
large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb
file
download/librilight/large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb.flac