Dust Is The Only Secret Poem by Emily Dickinson
Dust Is The Only Secret
153
Dust is the only Secret—
Death, the only One
You cannot find out all about
In his "native town."
Nobody know "his Father"—
Never was a Boy—
Hadn't any playmates,
Or "Early history"—
Industrious! Laconic!
Punctual! Sedate!
Bold as a Brigand!
Stiller than a Fleet!
Builds, like a Bird, too!
Christ robs the Nest—
Robin after Robin
Smuggled to Rest!
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8/9/2026 4:28:01 PM # rel_20260806T081513Z_580e7f4
Through Christ the soul is rescued from Death. Robin stands for the soul.