English poetry

Poems in English

She bore it till the simple veins

She bore it till the simple veins

She bore it till the simple veins
Traced azure on her hand
Til pleading, round her quiet eyes
The purple Crayons stand.

Till Daffodils had come and gone
I cannot tell the sum,
And then she ceased to bear it
And with the Saints sat down.

No more her patient figure
At twilight soft to meet
No more her timid bonnet
Upon the village street

But Crowns instead, and Courtiers
And in the midst so fair,
Whose but her shy immortal face
Of whom we’re whispering here?



Poem She bore it till the simple veins - Emily Dickinson