This Bauble Was Preferred of Bees, by Emily Dickinson

This Bauble Was Preferred of Bees

805

This Bauble was preferred of Bees—

By Butterflies admired

At Heavenly—Hopeless Distances—

Was justified of Bird—

Did Noon—enamel—in Herself

Was Summer to a Score

Who only knew of Universe—

It had created Her.

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443 I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl— Life’s little duties do—precisely— As the very least Were infinite—to me—

836 Truth—is as old as God— His Twin identity And will endure as long as He A Co-Eternity—

283 A Mien to move a Queen— Half Child—Half Heroine— An Orleans in the Eye That puts its manner by

797 By my Window have I for Scenery Just a Sea—with a Stem— If the Bird and the Farmer—deem i… The Opinion will serve—for them—

687 I’ll send the feather from my Hat… Who knows—but at the sight of that My Sovereign will relent? As trinket—worn by faded Child—

457 Sweet—safe—Houses—Glad—gay—House… Sealed so stately tight— Lids of Steel—on Lids of Marble— Locking Bare feet out—

957 As One does Sickness over In convalescent Mind, His scrutiny of Chances By blessed Health obscured—

It stole along so stealthy Suspicion it was done Was dim as to the wealthy Beginning not to own -

856 There is a finished feeling Experienced at Graves— A leisure of the Future— A Wilderness of Size.

424 Removed from Accident of Loss By Accident of Gain Befalling not my simple Days— Myself had just to earn—

466 ’Tis little I—could care for Pear… Who own the ample sea— Or Brooches—when the Emperor— With Rubies—pelteth me—

IX THE heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering;

106 The Daisy follows soft the Sun— And when his golden walk is done— Sits shyly at his feet— He—waking—finds the flower there—

558 But little Carmine hath her face— Of Emerald scant—her Gown— Her Beauty—is the love she doth— Itself—exhibit—Mine&md ash;

XXXIII DARE you see a soul at the white… Then crouch within the door. Red is the fire’s common tint; But when the vivid ore