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I know where Wells grow-Droughtless Wells-
Deep dug-for Summer days-
Where Mosses go no more away-
And Pebble-safely plays-
It’s made of Fathoms-and a Belt-
A Belt of jagged Stone-
Inlaid with Emerald-half way down-
And Diamonds-jumbled on-
It has no Bucket-Were I rich
A Bucket I would buy-
I’m often thirsty-but my lips
Are so high up-You see-
I read in an Old fashioned Book
That People “thirst no more”-
The Wells have Buckets to them there-
It must mean that-I’m sure-
Shall We remember Parching-then?
Those Waters sound so grand-
I think a little Well-like Mine-
Dearer to understand-
(Emily Dickinson)
More Poetry from Emily Dickinson:
- Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine (Emily Dickinson Poems)
- Sic transit gloria mundi (Emily Dickinson Poems)
- I cannot live with You (Emily Dickinson Poems)
- The Wind begun to knead the Grass (Emily Dickinson Poems)
- One Year ago-jots what? (Emily Dickinson Poems)
- Your Riches - taugh (Emily Dickinson Poems)