I Think I Was Enchanted
Emily Dickinson
593 I think I was enchanted When first a sombre Girl— I read that Foreign Lady— The Dark—felt beautiful— And whether it was noon at night— Or only Heaven—at Noon— For very Lunacy of Light I had not power to tell— The Bees—became as Butterflies— The Butterflies—as Swans— Approached—and spurned the narrow Grass— And just the meanest Tunes That Nature murmured to herself To keep herself in Cheer— I took for Giants—practising Titanic Opera— The Days—to Mighty Metres stept— The Homeliest—adorned As if unto a Jubilee ’Twere suddenly confirmed— I could not have defined the change— Conversion of the Mind Like Sanctifying in the Soul— Is witnessed—not explained— ’Twas a Divine Insanity— The Danger to be Sane Should I again experience— ’Tis Antidote to turn— To Tomes of solid Witchcraft— Magicians be asleep— But Magic—hath an Element Like Deity—to keep—
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