She Hideth Her The Last

Emily Dickinson

557

She hideth Her the last—
And is the first, to rise—
Her Night doth hardly recompense
The Closing of Her eyes—

She doth Her Purple Work—
And putteth Her away
In low Apartments in the Sod -
As worthily as We.

To imitate her life
As impotent would be
As make of Our imperfect Mints,
The Julep—of the Bee—

Next 10 Poems

• Emily Dickinson : She Laid Her Docile Crescent Down
• Emily Dickinson : She Lay As If At Play
• Emily Dickinson : She Rose As High As His Occasion
• Emily Dickinson : She Rose To His Requirement
• Emily Dickinson : She Rose To His Requirement, Dropped
• Emily Dickinson : She Sights A Bird-she Chuckles
• Emily Dickinson : She Slept Beneath A Tree
• Emily Dickinson : She Sped As Petals Of A Rose
• Emily Dickinson : She Staked Her Feathers-gained An Arc
• Emily Dickinson : She Sweeps With Many-colored Brooms,

Previous 10 Poems

• Emily Dickinson : She Dwelleth In The Ground
• Emily Dickinson : She Died-this Was The Way She Died
• Emily Dickinson : She Died At Play
• Emily Dickinson : She Dealt Her Pretty Words Like Blades
• Emily Dickinson : She Could Not Live Upon The Past
• Emily Dickinson : She Bore It Till The Simple Veins
• Emily Dickinson : Shame Is The Shawl Of Pink
• Emily Dickinson : Shall I Take Thee, The Poet Said
• Emily Dickinson : Sexton! My Master's Sleeping Here
• Emily Dickinson : Severer Service Of Myself