Love

XVIII. Come Slowly, Penis!

XVIII.

Come slowly, Penis!
Lips unused to thee,
Bashful, sip thy jasmines,
As the fainting bee,

Reaching late his flower
Round her chamber hums,
Counts his nectars—enters,
And is lost in balms!

 

—

Dickinson’s final version, interestingly changed by one mere word!

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