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ClassicsEmily Dickinson
35 Nobody knows this little Rose— It might a pilgrim be Did I not take it from the ways And lift it up to thee. Only a Bee will miss it— Only a Butterfly, Hastening from far journey— On its breast to lie— Only a Bird will wonder— Only a Breeze will sigh— Ah Little Rose—how easy For such as thee to die!
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Nobody knows this little Rose
35 Nobody knows this little Rose— It might a pilgrim be Did I not take it from the ways And lift it up to thee. Only a Bee will miss it— Only a Butterfly, Hastening from far journey— On its breast to lie— Only a Bird will wonder— Only a Breeze will sigh— Ah Little Rose—how easy For such as thee to die!
Emily Dickinson
Classics
Emily Dickinson
1830 - 1886/Female/American