Emily Dickinson — So bashful when I spied her 91

So bashful when I spied her! So pretty—so ashamed! So hidden in her leaflets Lest anybody find— So breathless till I passed here— So helpless when I turned And bore her struggling, blushing, Her simple haunts beyond! For whom I robbed the Dingle— For whom I betrayed the Dell— Many, will doubtless ask me, But I shall never tell!