A little Road — not made of Man —
Enabled of the Eye —
Accessible to Thill of Bee —
Or Cart of Butterfly —

If Town it have — beyond itself —
‘Tis that — I cannot say —
I only know — no Curricle that rumble there
Bear Me —

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1 Comment

  1. Bill says:

    Like many of Dickison’s poems, # 647 is a riddle-poem. The road on which bees and butterflies travel is, of course, a breeze. A system of transportation “not made of Man.” The Town which may or may not appear at the end of this road may exist in the realm of Imagination–as so much did for Dickinson.

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