I went to heaven, - 'Twas a small town, Lit with a ruby, Lathed with down. Stiller than the fields At the full dew, Beautiful as pictures No man drew. People like the moth, Of mechlin, frames, Duties of gossamer, And eider names. Almost contented I could be 'Mong such unique Society.
Return to the Emily Dickinson library , or . . . Read the next poem; Much Madness is divinest Sense