Her Face Was In A Bed Of Hair

Emily Dickinson

1722

Her face was in a bed of hair,
Like flowers in a plot—
Her hand was whiter than the sperm
That feeds the sacred light.
Her tongue more tender than the tune
That totters in the leaves—
Who hears may be incredulous,
Who witnesses, believes.

Next 10 Poems

• Emily Dickinson : Her Final Summer Was It
• Emily Dickinson : Her Grace Is All She Has-
• Emily Dickinson : Her Little Parasol To Lift
• Emily Dickinson : Her Losses Make Our Gains Ashamed-
• Emily Dickinson : Her Smile Was Shaped Like Other Smiles
• Emily Dickinson : Her Sovereign People
• Emily Dickinson : Her Spirit Rose To Such A Height
• Emily Dickinson : Her Sweet Turn To Leave The Homestead
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Previous 10 Poems

• Emily Dickinson : Her Breast Is Fit For Pearls
• Emily Dickinson : Heavenly Father-take To Thee
• Emily Dickinson : Heaven Is What I Cannot Reach!
• Emily Dickinson : Heaven Is So Far Of The Mind
• Emily Dickinson : Heaven Has Different Signs-to Me
• Emily Dickinson : Heart, Not So Heavy As Mine
• Emily Dickinson : Heart! We Will Forget Him!
• Emily Dickinson : He Who In Himself Believes
• Emily Dickinson : He Went By Sleep That Drowsy Route
• Emily Dickinson : He Was Weak, And I Was Strong-then