Eight Poems Of Emily Dickinson : 5. Dear March, Come In!
Emily Dickenson
Dear MarchCome in
How glad I am
I hoped for you before
Put down your Hat
You must have walked
How out of Breath you are
Dear March, how are you, and the Rest
Did you leave Nature well
Oh March, Come right upstairs with me
I have so much to tell
I got your Letter, and the Birds
The Maples never knew that you were coming
I declare - how Red their Faces grew
But March, forgive me
And all those Hills you left for me to Hue
There was no Purple suitable
You took it all with you
Who knocks? That April
Lock the Door
I will not be pursued
He stayed away a Year to call
When I am occupied
But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come
That blame is just as dear as Praise
And Praise as mere as Blame