Emily Dickinson Poems >>
The Tint I cannot take-is best

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The Tint I cannot take-is best-
The Color too remote
That I could show it in Bazaar-
A Guinea at a sight-

The fine-impalpable Array-
That swaggers on the eye
Like Cleopatra's Company-
Repeated-in the sky-

The Moments of Dominion
That happen on the Soul
And leave it with a Discontent
Too exquisite-to tell-

The eager look-on Landscapes-
As if they just repressed
Some Secret-that was pushing
Like Chariots-in the Vest-

The Pleading of the Summer-
That other Prank-of Snow-
That Cushions Mystery with Tulle,
For fear the Squirrels-know.

Their Graspless manners-mock us-
Until the Cheated Eye
Shuts arrogantly-in the Grave-
Another way-to see-