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When we stand on the tops of Things—
And like the Trees, look down—
The smoke all cleared away from it—
And Mirrors on the scene—
Just laying light—no soul will wink
Except it have the flaw—
The Sound ones, like the Hills—shall stand—
No Lighting, scares away—
The Perfect, nowhere be afraid—
They bear their dauntless Heads,
Where others, dare not go at Noon,
Protected by their deeds—
The Stars dare shine occasionally
Upon a spotted World—
And Suns, go surer, for their Proof,
As if an Axle, held—
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Not All Die Early, Dying Young
- The Soul's Distinct Connection
- The Doomed—regard The Sunrise
- I Rose—because He Sank
- He Told A Homely Tale