THE ROSE DID CAPER ON HER CHEEK

by: Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

      HE rose did caper on her cheek,
      Her bodice rose and fell,
      Her pretty speech, like drunken men,
      Did stagger pitiful.
       
      Her fingers fumbled at her work,--
      Her needle would not go;
      What ailed so smart a little maid
      It puzzled me to know,
       
      Till opposite I spied a cheek
      That bore another rose;
      Just opposite, another speech
      That like the drunkard goes;
       
      A vest that, like the bodice, danced
      To the immortal tune,--
      Till those two troubled little clocks
      Ticked softly into one.

MORE POEMS BY EMILY DICKINSON

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