I CAN’T tell you, but you feel it–
Nor can you tell me,
Saints with vanished 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!



– I CAN’T tell you, but you feel it by Emily Dickinson



Related posts:

  1. Poem of the day – THE WAKING YEAR – A lady red upon the hill by Emily Dickinson A lady red upon the hill Her annual secret keeps;A lady white within the field In placid lily sleeps! The tidy breezes with their brooms Sweep vale, and hill, and tree!Prithee, my pretty housewives! Who may expected be? The neighbors do not yet suspect! The woods exchange a smile –Orchard, and buttercup, and bird – [...]...
  2. Poem of the day – TO MARCH – Dear March, come in! by Emily Dickinson Dear March, come in!How glad I am!I looked for you before.Put down your hat –You must have walked –How out of breath you are!Dear March, how are you?And the rest?Did you leave Nature well?Oh, March, come right upstairs with me,I have so much to tell! I got your letter, and the birds’;The maples never knewThat [...]...
  3. Poem of the day – VANISHED by Emily Dickinson She died, — this was the way she died;And when her breath was done,Took up her simple wardrobeAnd started for the sun. Her little figure at the gateThe angels must have spied,Since I could never find herUpon the mortal side. – VANISHED by Emily Dickinson...
  4. Poem of the day – GHOSTS by Emily Dickinson One need not be a chamber to be haunted,One need not be a house;The brain has corridors surpassingMaterial place. Far safer, of a midnight meetingExternal ghost,Than an interior confrontingThat whiter host. Far safer through an Abbey gallop,The stones achase,Than, moonless, one’s own self encounterIn lonesome place. Ourself, behind ourself concealed,Should startle most;Assassin, hid in our [...]...
  5. Poem of the day – GHOSTS by Emily Dickinson One need not be a chamber to be haunted,One need not be a house;The brain has corridors surpassingMaterial place. Far safer, of a midnight meetingExternal ghost,Than an interior confrontingThat whiter host. Far safer through an Abbey gallop,The stones achase,Than, moonless, one’s own self encounterIn lonesome place. Ourself, behind ourself concealed,Should startle most;Assassin, hid in our [...]...