Emily Dickinson's Collected Poems

Part Three: Nature 54. The murmur of a bee


The murmur of a bee

A witchcraft yieldeth me.

If any ask me why,

'T were easier to die

Than tell.

The red upon the hill

Taketh away my will;

If anybody sneer,

Take care, for God is here,

That's all.

The breaking of the day

Addeth to my degree;

If any ask me how,

Artist, who drew me so,

Must tell!