Nobody Knows This Little Rose, by Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

Nobody Knows This Little Rose

Nobody knows this little Rose—

It might a pilgrim be

Did I not take it from the ways

And lift it up to thee.

Only a Bee will miss it—

Only a Butterfly,

Hastening from far journey—

On its breast to lie—

Only a Bird will wonder—

Only a Breeze will sigh—

Ah Little Rose—how easy

For such as thee to die!

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Emily Dickinson