I Think the Hemlock Likes to Stand, par Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

I Think the Hemlock Likes to Stand

525

I think the Hemlock likes to stand

Upon a Marge of Snow—

It suits his own Austerity—

And satisfies an awe

That men, must slake in Wilderness—

And in the Desert—cloy—

An instinct for the Hoar, the Bald—

Lapland’s—necessity—

The Hemlock’s nature thrives—on cold—

The Gnash of Northern winds

Is sweetest nutriment—to him—

His best Norwegian Wines—

To satin Races—he is nought—

But Children on the Don,

Beneath his Tabernacles, play,

And Dnieper Wrestlers, run.

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Emily Dickinson

I Think the Hemlock Likes to Stand

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