large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb_98
large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb
English
7245
I thought if I could only live Till that first shout got by, Not all pianos in the woods Had power to mangle me. I dared not meet the daffodils, For fear their yellow gown Would pierce me with a fashion So foreign to my own. I THOUGHT IF I COULD ONLY LIVE TILL THAT FIRST SHOUT GOT BY NOT ALL PIANOS IN THE WOODS HAD POWER TO MANGLE ME I DARED NOT MEET THE DAFFODILS FOR FEAR THEIR YELLOW GOWN WOULD PIERCE ME WITH A FASHION SO FOREIGN TO MY OWN
n 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. 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. The splendor of a Burmah, The meteor of birds, Departing like a pageant Of ballads and of bards. I never thought that Jason sought For any golden fleece; But then I am a rural man, With thoughts that make for peace. But if there were a Jason, Tradition suffer me Behold his lost emolument Upon the apple-tree. XIV. IN SHADOW. I dreaded that first robin so, But he is mastered now, And I 'm accustomed to him grown, -- He hurts a little, though. SHION 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 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 THE SPLENDOUR OF A BURMAH THE METEOR OF BIRDS DEPARTING LIKE A PAGEANT OF BALLADS AND OF BARDS I NEVER THOUGHT THAT JASON SOUGHT FOR ANY GOLDEN FLEECE BUT THEN I AM A RURAL MAN WITH THOUGHTS THAT MAKE FOR PEACE BUT IF THERE WERE A JASON TRADITION SUFFER ME BEHOLD HIS LOST EMOLUMENT UPON THE APPLE TREE FOURTEEN IN SHADOW I DREADED THAT FIRST ROBIN SO BUT HE IS MASTERED NOW AND I AM ACCUSTOMED TO HIM GROWN HE HURTS A LITTLE THOUGH
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