Friday, February 11, 2011

Garden poem by Emily Dickinson

A bird came down the walk:
He did not know I saw;
He bit an angle-worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw.
And then he drank a dew
From a convenient grass,
And then hopped sidewise to the wall
To let a beetle pass.
He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all abroad, --
They looked like frightened beads, I thought;
He stirred his velvet head
Like one in danger; cautious,
I offered him a crumb,
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer home
Than oars divide the ocean,
Too silver for a seam,
Or butterflies, off banks of noon,
Leap, plashless, as they swim.

Possibly in this poem Emily is showing us how quickly life can be extinguished. Maybe her real life experience of which nobody knows about is being expressed creatively in this poem. About how violent but at the same time peaceful and calm nature can be.

1 comment:

  1. The bird ate the worm but left the beetle pass. I agree with your last sentence, but I protest your sarcasm in the middle sentence.

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