“
I would not paint—a picture
I would not paint—a picture—
I'd rather be the One
Its bright impossibility
To dwell—delicious—on—
And wonder how the fingers feel
Whose rare—celestial—stir—
Evokes so sweet a Torment—
Such sumptuous—Despair—
I would not talk, like Cornets—
I'd rather be the One
Raised softly to the Ceilings—
And out, and easy on—
Through Villages of Ether—
Myself endued Balloon
By but a lip of Metal—
The pier to my Pontoon—
Nor would I be a Poet—
It's finer—own the Ear—
Enamored—impotent—content—
The License to revere,
A privilege so awful
What would the Dower be,
Had I the Art to stun myself
With Bolts of Melody!
- 70 Views
Translation
Find a translation for this poem in other languages:
Select another language:
Discuss this Emily Dickinson poem with the community:
Citation
Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:
"I would not paint—a picture by Emily Dickinson" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 17 Feb. 2019. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/11831>.
Powered by CITE.ME
