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Read more poems by Emily Dickinson: Emily Dickinson Poems at Poetry X.

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I can't tell you—but you feel it

Emily Dickinson

65

I can't tell you—but you feel it—
Nor can you tell me—
Saints, with ravished slate and pencil
Solve our April Day!

Sweeter than a vanished frolic
From a vanished green!
Swifter than the hoofs of Horsemen
Round a Ledge of dream!

Modest, let us walk among it
With our faces veiled—
As they say polite Archangels
Do in meeting God!

Not for me—to prate about it!
Not for you—to say
To some fashionable Lady
"Charming April Day"!

Rather—Heaven's "Peter Parley"!
By which Children slow
To sublimer Recitation
Are prepared to go!

Added: 19 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 19 Jan 2018 2:10 PM | Viewed: 7958 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/6318/ | Viewed on 19 January 2018.
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