Emily Dickinson - The Tint I cannot take

The Tint I cannot take—is best—
The Color too remote
That I could show it in Bazaar—
A Guinea at a sight—

 

The fine—impalpable Array—
That swaggers on the eye
Like Cleopatra’s Company—
Repeated—in the sky—

 

The Moments of Dominion
That happen on the Soul
And leave it with a Discontent
Too exquisite—to tell—

 

The eager look—on Landscapes—
As if they just repressed
Some Secret—that was pushing
Like Chariots—in the Vest—

 

The Pleading of the Summer—
That other Prank—of Snow—
That Cushions Mystery with Tul...