Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Why?

The murmur of a bee
A witchcraft yieldeth me.
If any ask me why,
'T were easier to die
Than tell.

The red upon the hill
Taketh away my will;
If anybody sneer,
Take care, for God is here,
That's all.

The breaking of the day
Addeth to my degree;
If any ask me how,
Artist, who drew me so,
Must tell!

1. Is Bliss, Then, Such Abyss
2. Childish Griefs
3. What Soft, Cherubic Creatures
4. Desire
5. Power

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