The nearest Dream recedes—unrealized—
The Heaven we chase,
Like the June Bee—before the School Boy,
Invites the Race—
Stoops—to an easy Clover—
Dips—evades—teases—deploys—
Then—to the Royal Clouds
Lifts his light Pinnace—
Heedless of the Boy—
Staring—bewildered—at the mocking sky—
Homesick for steadfast Honey—
Ah, the Bee flies not
That brews that rare variety!
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Comments
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I love reading Emily Dickinson. I remember this work of hers very well. Her work always seem to fall from the tongue so easily.
♥ Kimberly -
I usually don't like Emily Dickinson but this is actually quite and exceptional poem! I enjoyed reading it and her format is something everyone should accomplish at least once in their life time.
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