WITH FLOWERS - South winds jostle them
South winds jostle them, / Bumblebees come,
CONSECRATION - Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it,
❦
Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it,
Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee,
Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it,
Not to partake thy passion, my humility.
More poems by Emily Dickinson
LIKE brooms of steel
LIKE brooms of steel / The Snow and Wind
So bashful when I spied her
So bashful when I spied her, / So pretty, so ashamed!
As imperceptibly as grief
As imperceptibly as grief / The summer lapsed away, --