Author Emily Dickinson It is an honorable thought, And makes one lift one's hat, As one encountered gentlefolk Upon a daily street, That we've immortal place, Though pyramids decay, And kingdoms, like the orchard, Flit russetly away. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments