Emily Dickinson (10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)
I like to see it lap the miles,
And lick the valleys up,
And stop to feed itself at tanks;
And then, prodigious, step
Around a pile of mountains,
And, supercilious, peer
In shanties by the sides of roads;
And then a quarry pare
To fit its sides, and crawl between,
Complaining all the while
In horrid, hooting stanza;
Then chase itself down the hill
And neigh like Boanerges;
Then, punctual as a star,
Stop - docile and omnipotent -
At its own stable door.
Read poems about / on: star
Poet Other Poems
- "Arcturus" is his other name
- "Faith" is a fine invention
- "Heaven" has different Signs—to me
- "Heaven"—is what I cannot reach!
- "Hope" is the thing with feathers
- "Houses"—so the Wise Men tell me
- "I want"—it pleaded—All its ...
- "Morning"—means "Milking"—to...
- "Nature" is what we see
- "Unto Me?" I do not know you
- "Why do I love" You, Sir?
- A Bird Came Down
- A Book
- A Burdock—clawed my Gown
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.