Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
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Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
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Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
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Emily Dickinson
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Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
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.