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POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON
II
WILL there really be a morning?Is there such a thing as day?Could I see it from the mountainsIf I were as tall as they?
Has it feet like water-lilies?Has it feathers like a bird?Is it brought from famous countriesOf which I have never heard?
Oh, some scholar! Oh, some sailor!Oh, some wise man from the skies!Please to tell a little pilgrimWhere the place called morning lies!
III
AT half-past three a single birdUnto a silent skyPropounded but a single termOf cautious melody.
At half-past four, experimentHad subjugated test,And lo! her silver principleSupplanted all the rest.
At half-past seven, elementNor implement was seen,And place was where the presence was,Circumference between.
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