large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb_108
large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb
English
7245
A pleader, a dissembler, An epicure, a thief,    Betimes an oratorio, An ecstasy in chief; The Jesuit of orchards, He cheats as he enchants Of an entire attar For his decamping wants. A PLEADER A DISSEMBLER AN EPICURE A THIEF BECOMES AN ORATORIO AN ECSTASY IN CHIEF THE JESUIT OF ORCHARDS HE CHEATS AS HE ENCHANTS OF AN ENTIRE ATTAR FOR HIS DECAMPING WANTS
Vevay, Belles from some lost summer day, Bees' exclusive coterie. Paris could not lay the fold Belted down with emerald; Venice could not show a cheek Of a tint so lustrous meek. Never such an ambuscade As of brier and leaf displayed For my little damask maid. I had rather wear her grace Than an earl's distinguished face; I had rather dwell like her Than be Duke of Exeter Royalty enough for me To subdue the bumble-bee! XII. THE ORIOLE'S SECRET. To hear an oriole sing May be a common thing, Or only a divine. It is not of the bird Who sings the same, unheard, As unto crowd. The fashion of the ear Attireth that it hear In dun or fair. So whether it be rune, Or whether it be none, Is of within; The "tune is in the tree," The sceptic showeth me; "No, sir! In thee!" XIII. THE ORIOLE. One of the ones that Midas touched, Who failed to touch us all, Was that confiding prodigal, The blissful oriole. So drunk, he disavows it With badinage divine; So dazzling, we mistake him For an alighting mine. APHS GONE ASTRAY VELVET PEOPLE FROM VEVET BELLS FROM SOME LOST SUMMER DAY BEES EXCLUSIVE COTERIE PARIS COULD NOT LAY THE FOLD BELTED DOWN WITH EMERALD VENICE COULD NOT SHOW A CHEEK OF A TINT SO LUSTROUS MEEK NEVER SUCH AN AMBUSCADE AS OF BRIAR AND LEAF DISPLAYED FOR MY LITTLE DAMASK MAID I HAD RATHER WEAR HER GRACE THAN AN EARL'S DISTINGUISHED FACE I HAD RATHER DWELL LIKE HER THAN BE DUKE OF EXETER ROYALTY ENOUGH FOR ME TO SUBDUE THE BUMBLE BEE TWELVE THE ORIOLES SECRET TO HEAR AN ORIOLE SING MAY BE A COMMON THING OR ONLY A DIVINE IT IS NOT OF THE BIRD WHO SINGS THE SAME UNHEARD AS UNTO CROWD THE FASHION OF THE EAR ATTIRETH THAT IT HEAR IN DONE OR FAIR SO WHETHER IT BE RUNE OR WHETHER IT BE NONE IS OF WITHIN THE TUNE IS IN THE TREE THE SCEPTIC SHOWETH ME NO SIR IN THEE THIRTEEN THE ORIOLE ONE OF THE ONES THAT MIDAS TOUCHED WHO FAILED TO TOUCH US ALL WAS THAT CONFIDING PRODIGAL THE BLISSFUL ORIOLE SO DRUNK HE DISAVOWS IT WITH BATANAGE DIVINE SO DAZZLING WE MISTAKEN FOR AN ALIGHTING MIND
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