Poems by Emily Dickinson: VII ("The bee")

Updated May 6, 2020 | Infoplease Staff

VII

The bee is not afraid of me,
I know the butterfly;
The pretty people in the woods
Receive me cordially.
The brooks laugh louder when I come,
The breezes madder play.
Wherefore, mine eyes, thy silver mists?
Wherefore, O summer's day?
.com/t/lit/dickinson/1/chapter3/7.html
Sources +