My cocoon tightens, colors tease,
I'm feeling for the air;
A dim capacity for wings
Degrades the dress I wear.
A power of butterfly must be
The aptitude to fly,
Meadows of majesty concedes
And easy sweeps of sky.
So I must baffle at the hint
And cipher at the sign,
And make much blunder, if at last
I take the clew divine.
It's been challenging lately. I'm stressed out and birth control pill is getting on my nerves. However, I still have a capacity for wings that magnifies the dress I wear.
Emily Dickinson, poem 627:
ReplyDeleteThe 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 —
thanks Justin.
ReplyDeleteIt's a wonderful poem.