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ClassicsEmily Dickinson
45 There’s something quieter than sleep Within this inner room! It wears a sprig upon its breast— And will not tell its name. Some touch it, and some kiss it— Some chafe its idle hand— It has a simple gravity I do not understand! I would not weep if I were they— How rude in one to sob! Might scare the quiet fairy Back to her native wood! While simple-hearted neighbors Chat of the “Early dead”— We—prone to periphrasis Remark that Birds have fled!
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There’s something quieter than sleep
45 There’s something quieter than sleep Within this inner room! It wears a sprig upon its breast— And will not tell its name. Some touch it, and some kiss it— Some chafe its idle hand— It has a simple gravity I do not understand! I would not weep if I were they— How rude in one to sob! Might scare the quiet fairy Back to her native wood! While simple-hearted neighbors Chat of the “Early dead”— We—prone to periphrasis Remark that Birds have fled!
Emily Dickinson
Classics
Emily Dickinson
1830 - 1886/Female/American