Poemsby Emily Dickinson


 Of bronze and blaze   The north, to-night!   So adequate its forms, So preconcerted with itself,   So distant to alarms, - An unconcern so sovereign   To universe, or me, It paints my simple spirit   With tints of majesty, Till I take vaster attitudes,   And strut upon my stem, Disdaining men and oxygen,   For arrogance of them. 
 My splendors are menagerie;   But their competeless show Will entertain the centuries   When I am, long ago, An island in dishonored grass,   Whom none but daisies know.