Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete · Emily Dickinson
Chapter 16
Chapter 75 of 146 · 1 min read
SECRETS.
The skies can't keep their secret! They tell it to the hills — The hills just tell the orchards — And they the daffodils!
A bird, by chance, that goes that way Soft overheard the whole. If I should bribe the little bird, Who knows but she would tell?
I think I won't, however, It's finer not to know; If summer were an axiom, What sorcery had snow?
So keep your secret, Father! I would not, if I could, Know what the sapphire fellows do, In your new-fashioned world!
XVII.
Who robbed the woods, The trusting woods? The unsuspecting trees Brought out their burrs and mosses His fantasy to please. He scanned their trinkets, curious, He grasped, he bore away. What will the solemn hemlock, What will the fir-tree say?
XVIII.
TWO VOYAGERS.
Two butterflies went out at noon And waltzed above a stream, Then stepped straight through the firmament And rested on a beam;
And then together bore away Upon a shining sea, — Though never yet, in any port, Their coming mentioned be.
If spoken by the distant bird, If met in ether sea By frigate or by merchantman, Report was not to me.
