Poemsby Emily Dickinson

Sight

 Before I got my eye put out, I liked as well to see As other creatures that have eyes, And know no other way. 
 But were it told to me, to-day, That I might have the sky For mine, I tell you that my heart Would split, for size of me. 
 The meadows mine, the mountains mine, - All forests, stintless stars, As much of noon as I could take Between my finite eyes. 
 The motions of the dipping birds, The lightning's jointed road, For mine to look at when I liked, - The news would strike me dead! 
 So safer, guess, with just my soul Upon the window-pane Where other creatures put their eyes, Incautious of the sun.