290
Of Bronze—and Blaze—
The North—Tonight—
So adequate—it forms—
So preconcerted with itself—
So distant—to alarms—
And Unconcern so sovereign
To Universe, or me—
Infects my simple spirit
With Taints of Majesty—
Till I take vaster attitudes—
And strut upon my stem—
Disdaining Men, and Oxygen,
For Arrogance of them—
My Splendors, are Menagerie—
But their Completeless Show
Will entertain the Centuries
When I, am long ago,
An Island in dishonored Grass—
Whom none but Beetles—know.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- She Sped As Petals Of A Rose
- I Ment To Find Her When I Came;
- The Face I Carry With Me—last
- I Tie My Hat—i Crease My Shawl
- How Noteless Men, And Pleiads, Stand