large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb_23
large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb
English
7245
So keep your secret, Father! I would not, if I could, Know what the sapphire fellows do, In your new fashioned world! SO KEEP YOUR SECRET FATHER I WOULD NOT IF I COULD KNOW WHAT THE SAPPHIRE FELLOWS DO IN YOUR NEW FASHIONED WORLD
 tallest one Could stretch to look at me. I could not bear the bees should come, I wished they 'd stay away In those dim countries where they go: What word had they for me? They 're here, though; not a creature failed, No blossom stayed away In gentle deference to me, The Queen of Calvary. Each one salutes me as he goes, And I my childish plumes Lift, in bereaved acknowledgment Of their unthinking drums. XV. THE HUMMING-BIRD. A route of evanescence With a revolving wheel; A resonance of emerald, A rush of cochineal; And every blossom on the bush Adjusts its tumbled head, -- The mail from Tunis, probably, An easy morning's ride. XVI. SECRETS. The skies can't keep their secret! They tell it to the hills -- The hills just tell the orchards -- And they the daffodils! A bird, by chance, that goes that way Soft overheard the whole. If I should bribe the little bird, Who knows but she would tell? I think I won't, however, It's finer not to know; If summer were an axiom, What sorcery had snow? EN TWAS TIME TO SEE HE'D BE TOO TALL THE TALLEST ONE COULD STRETCH TO LOOK AT ME I COULD NOT BEAR THE BEES SHOULD COME I WISHED THEY'D STAY AWAY IN THOSE DIM COUNTRIES WHERE THEY GO WHAT WORD HAD THEY FOR ME THERE HERE THOUGH NOT A CREATURE FAILED NO BLOSSOM STAYED AWAY IN GENTLE DEFERENCE TO ME THE QUEEN OF CALVARY EACH ONE SALUTES ME AS HE GOES AND I MY CHILDISH PLUMES LIFT IN BEREAVED ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF THEIR UNTHINKING DRUMS FIFTEEN THE HUMMING BIRD A ROUT OF EVANESCENCE WITH A REVOLVING WHEEL A RESONANCE OF EMERALD A RUSH OF COCKENEAL AND EVERY BLOSSOM ON THE BUSH ADJUSTS ITS TUMBLED HEAD THE MAIL FROM TUNIS PROBABLY AN EASY MORNING'S RIDE SIXTEEN SECRETS THE SKIES CAN'T KEEP THEIR SECRET THEY TELL IT TO THE HILLS THE HILLS JUST TELL THE ORCHARDS AND THEY THE DAFFODILS A BIRD BY CHANCE THAT GOES THAT WAY SOFT OVERHEARD THE WHOLE IF I SHOULD BRIBE THE LITTLE BIRD WHO KNOWS BUT SHE WOULD TELL I THINK I WON'T HOWEVER IT'S FINER NOT TO KNOW IF SUMMER WERE AN AXIOM WHAT SORCERY HAD SNOW
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