LXIII

A something in a summer's day

As slow her flambeaux burn away

Which solemnizes me.

A something in a summer's noon-

A depth-an Azure-a perfume

Transcending ecstasy.

And still within a summer's night

A something so transporting bright

I clap my hands to see-

Then veil my too inspecting face

Lest such a subtle-shimmering grace

Flutter too far for me-

The wizard fingers never rest-

The purple brook within the breast,

Still chafes its narrow bed-

Still rears the East her amber flag-

Guides still the sun along the crag

His caravan of red-

Like flowers that heard the tale of dews,

But never deemed the dripping prize,

Awaited their low brows;

Or bees, that thought the summer's name

Some rumor of delirium

No summer could for them;

Οr Arctic creature, dimly stirred

By tropic hint,-some travelled bird

Imported to the wood;

Or wind's bright signal to the ear,

Making that homely and severe,

Contented, known, before

The heaven unexpected came,

To lives that thought their worshipping,

A too presumptuous psalm.

Emily Dickinson



LXIII  Part Two : Nature
Complete Poems 1924 by Emily Dickinson