Emily Dickinson’s speaker longs for someone’s attention so desperately that she imagines bribing them with all the flowers between Amherst and Cashmere. She wouldn’t let night, storms, frost, or even death stop her—this mission is simply too dear. If blossoms fail, she’ll offer music: a tambourine played tirelessly in the spring woods, then wilder singing when winter rattles the branches. She presents herself as a supplicant, offering nature’s beauty and her own artistry with a blend of humility and stubborn will. Still, she knows she risks becoming a nuisance, a beggar whose face they grow tired of, haunting the Hall where they dwell. A trembling hope surfaces in the exclamation “What if they hear me!”—the chance that such persistent pleading might finally earn a Yes. But the poem ends on an anxious edge: what if they simply order her out? The mood is intimate and breathless, caught between fierce devotion and the ache of possible rejection.
If I could bribe them by a Rose — Summary
If I could bribe them by a Rose I'd bring them every flower that grows From Amherst to Cashmere! I would not stop for night, or storm -- Or frost, or death, or anyone -- My business were so dear!
If they would linger for a Bird My Tambourin were soonest heard Among the April Woods! Unwearied, all the summer long, Only to break in wilder song When Winter shook the boughs!
What if they hear me! Who shall say That such an importunity May not at last avail?
That, weary of this Beggar's face -- They may not finally say, Yes -- To drive her from the Hall?