Within my Garden, rides a Bird
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| ←Those fair — fictitious People — (499) | Within my Garden, rides a Bird by 500 |
(501) This World is not Conclusion.→ |
Within my Garden, rides a Bird
Upon a single Wheel —
Whose spokes a dizzy Music make
As 'twere a travelling Mill —
He never stops, but slackens
Above the Ripest Rose —
Partakes without alighting
And praises as he goes,
Till every spice is tasted —
And then his Fairy Gig
Reels in remoter atmospheres —
And I rejoin my Dog,
And He and I, perplex us
If positive, 'twere we —
Or bore the Garden in the Brain
This Curiosity —
But He, the best Logician,
Refers my clumsy eye —
To just vibrating Blossoms!
An Exquisite Reply!
| Poetry by Emily Dickinson (edit list): | |
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