To You



In Winter in my Room
-I came upon a Worm
-Pink, lank and warm
But as he was a worm
And worms presume
-Not quite with him at home
Secured him by a string
To something neighboring
.And went along.

A Trifle afterward
A thing occurred
I'd not believe it if I heard
-But state with creeping blood
A snake with mottles rare
Surveyed my chamber floor
In feature as the worm before
-But ringed with power

The very string with which
I tied him—too
When he was mean and new
-That string was there

!I shrank—"How fair you are"
-Propitiation's claw
"Afraid," he hissed
?"Of me"
-"No cordiality"
-He fathomed me
Then to a Rhythm Slim
Secreted in his Form
As Patterns swim
.Projected him

That time I flew
Both eyes his way
Lest he pursue
Nor ever ceased to run
Till in a distant Town
Towns on from mine
I set me down
.This was a dream


Emily Dickinson