Nothing New

Classic writing, modern delivery

Emily Dickinson · Poems

Poem 14 of 446 · First Series: Life

The Secret

— ✻ —

Some things that fly there be, --
Birds, hours, the bumble-bee:
Of these no elegy.

Some things that stay there be, --
Grief, hills, eternity:
Nor this behooveth me.

There are, that resting, rise.
Can I expound the skies?
How still the riddle lies!

Receive Emily Dickinson one poem at a time, on your schedule.
Subscribe →