144
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?
She Bore It Till The Simple Veins
Emily Dickinson
(1)
Poem topics: purple, face, street, simple, stand, soft, quiet, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
Write your comment about She Bore It Till The Simple Veins poem by Emily Dickinson
Best Poems of Emily Dickinson