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I had no portrait, now, but am small, like the Wren, and my Hair is bold, like the Chestnut Bur —and my eyes, like the Sherry in the Glass, that the Guest leaves—

(I am by no stretch of the imagination an expert and therefore cannot/will not do your homework/essay for you.)

Here, where the Daisies fit my Head
‘Tis easiest to lie
And every Grass that plays outside
Is sorry, some, for me.

Where I am not afraid to go
I may confide my Flower—
Who was not Enemy of Me
Will gentle be, to Her.

Nor separate, Herself and Me
By Distances become—
A single Bloom we constitute
Departed, or at Home— 

11 months ago with 4 notes

#Emily Dickinson #1037.