Poemsby Emily Dickinson

XX

 Could I but ride indefinite,
As doth the meadow-bee,
And visit only where I liked,
And no man visit me,
 And flirt all day with buttercups,
And marry whom I may,
And dwell a little everywhere,
Or better, run away
 With no police to follow,
Or chase me if I do,
Till I should jump peninsulas
To get away from you, —
 I said, but just to be a bee
Upon a raft of air,
And row in nowhere all day long,
And anchor off the bar,—
What liberty! So captives deem
Who tight in dungeons are.