Emily Dickinson

(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)

There Is An Arid Pleasure - Poem by Emily Dickinson


There is an arid Pleasure—
As different from Joy—
As Frost is different from Dew—
Like element—are they—

Yet one—rejoices Flowers—
And one—the Flowers abhor—
The finest Honey—curdled—
Is worthless—to the Bee—

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Read poems about / on: joy, flower

Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

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