by Emily Dickinson
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American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
< < < So bashful when I spied her
Some, too fragile for winter winds > > >
So proud she was to die
So proud she was to die
It made us all ashamed
That what we cherished, so unknown
To her desire seemed.
So satisfied to go
Where none of us should be,
Immediately, that anguish stooped
Almost to jealousy.
< < < So bashful when I spied her
Some, too fragile for winter winds > > >
American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
Copyright holders – Public Domain
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