Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete · Emily Dickinson
Chapter 11
Chapter 62 of 146 · 1 min read
THE LOVERS.
The rose did caper on her cheek, Her bodice rose and fell, Her pretty speech, like drunken men, Did stagger pitiful.
Her fingers fumbled at her work, — Her needle would not go; What ailed so smart a little maid It puzzled me to know,
Till opposite I spied a cheek That bore another rose; Just opposite, another speech That like the drunkard goes;
A vest that, like the bodice, danced To the immortal tune, — Till those two troubled little clocks Ticked softly into one.
XII.
In lands I never saw, they say, Immortal Alps look down, Whose bonnets touch the firmament, Whose sandals touch the town, —
Meek at whose everlasting feet A myriad daisies play. Which, sir, are you, and which am I, Upon an August day?
XIII.
The moon is distant from the sea, And yet with amber hands She leads him, docile as a boy, Along appointed sands.
He never misses a degree; Obedient to her eye, He comes just so far toward the town, Just so far goes away.
Oh, Signor, thine the amber hand, And mine the distant sea, — Obedient to the least command Thine eyes impose on me.
