Skip to content
1830–1886

IX.

Emily Dickinson

They wo n't frown always, — some sweet day When I forget to tease, They'll recollect how cold I looked, And how I just said‘ please.’

Then they will hasten to the door To call the little child, Who cannot thank them, for the ice That on her lisping piled.

Cookies on Poetry Cove

We use cookies to remember your language preference and — only with your consent — to learn how Poetry Cove is used. You can change your mind any time.
IX. · Emily Dickinson · Poetry Cove