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You'll know Her by Her Foot

You’ll know Her by Her Foot
The smallest Gamboge Hand
With Fingers where the Toes should be
Would more affront the Sand

Than this Quaint Creature’s Boot
Adjusted by a Stern
Without a Button I could vouch
Unto a Velvet Limb

You’ll know Her by Her Vest
Tight fitting Orange Brown
Inside a Jacket duller
She wore when she was born

Her Cap is small and snug
Constructed for the Winds
She’d pass for Barehead short way off
But as She Closer stands

So finer ’tis than Wool
You cannot feel the Seam
Nor is it Clasped unto of Band
Nor held upon of Brim

You’ll know Her by Her Voice
At first a doubtful Tone
A sweet endeavor but as March
To April hurries on

She squanders on your Ear
Such Arguments of Pearl
You beg the Robin in your Brain
To keep the other still


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Poem You'll know Her by Her Foot - Emily Dickinson
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