I Would Not Paint-a Picture
Emily Dickinson
505 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!
Next 10 Poems
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- Emily Dickinson : If All The Griefs I Am To Have
- Emily Dickinson : If Any Sink, Assure That This, Now Standing
- Emily Dickinson : If Anybody's Friend Be Dead
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- Emily Dickinson : If He Dissolve-then-there Is Nothing
- Emily Dickinson : If He Were Living-dare I Ask
Previous 10 Poems
- Emily Dickinson : I Would Distil A Cup
- Emily Dickinson : I Worked For Chaff And Earning Wheat
- Emily Dickinson : I Went To Thank Her
- Emily Dickinson : I Went To Heaven,--
- Emily Dickinson : I Watcher Her Face To See Which Way
- Emily Dickinson : I Watched The Moon Around The House
- Emily Dickinson : I Was The Slightest In The House
- Emily Dickinson : I Was A Phoebe-nothing More-
- Emily Dickinson : I Want-it Pleaded-all Its Life
- Emily Dickinson : I Tried To Think A Lonelier Thing
