Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete · Emily Dickinson
Chapter 30
Chapter 26 of 146 · 1 min read
THE HEMLOCK.
I think the hemlock likes to stand Upon a marge of snow; It suits his own austerity, And satisfies an awe
That men must slake in wilderness, Or in the desert cloy, — An instinct for the hoar, the bald, Lapland's necessity.
The hemlock's nature thrives on cold; The gnash of northern winds Is sweetest nutriment to him, His best Norwegian wines.
To satin races he is nought; But children on the Don Beneath his tabernacles play, And Dnieper wrestlers run.
