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629 I watched the Moon around the House Until upon a Pane— She stopped—a Traveller's privilege—for Rest— And there upon I gazed—as at a stranger— The Lady in the Town Doth think no incivility To lift her Glass—upon— But never Stranger justified The Curiosity Like Mine—for not a Foot—nor Hand— Nor Formula—had she— But like a Head—a Guillotine Slid carelessly away— Did independent, Amber— Sustain her in the sky— Or like a Stemless Flower— Upheld in rolling Air By finer Gravitations— Than bind Philosopher— No Hunger—had she—nor an Inn— Her Toilette—to suffice— Nor Avocation—nor Concern For little Mysteries As harass us—like Life—and Death— And Afterwards—or Nay— But seemed engrossed to Absolute— With shining—and the Sky— The privilege to scrutinize Was scarce upon my Eyes When, with a Silver practise— She vaulted out of Gaze— And next—I met her on a Cloud— Myself too far below To follow her superior Road— Or its advantage—Blue—
Added: 2 Sep 2002 | Last Read: 11 Oct 2008 10:22 PM | Viewed: 5030 times
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Emily Dickinson
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