557 <br /> <br />She hideth Her the last— <br />And is the first, to rise— <br />Her Night doth hardly recompense <br />The Closing of Her eyes— <br /> <br />She doth Her Purple Work— <br />And putteth Her away <br />In low Apartments in the Sod - <br />As worthily as We. <br /> <br />To imitate her life <br />As impotent would be <br />As make of Our imperfect Mints, <br />The Julep—of the Bee—<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/she-hideth-her-the-last/
