Precious To Me-she Still Shall Be
Emily Dickinson
727 Precious to Me—She still shall be— Though She forget the name I bear— The fashion of the Gown I wear— The very Color of My Hair— So like the Meadows—now— I dared to show a Tress of Theirs If haply—She might not despise A Buttercup’s Array— I know the Whole—obscures the Part— The fraction—that appeased the Heart Till Number’s Empery— Remembered—as the Millner’s flower When Summer’s Everlasting Dower— Confronts the dazzled Bee.
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