When We Stand On The Tops Of Things
Emily Dickinson
242 When we stand on the tops of Things— And like the Trees, look down— The smoke all cleared away from it— And Mirrors on the scene— Just laying light—no soul will wink Except it have the flaw— The Sound ones, like the Hills—shall stand— No Lighting, scares away— The Perfect, nowhere be afraid— They bear their dauntless Heads, Where others, dare not go at Noon, Protected by their deeds— The Stars dare shine occasionally Upon a spotted World— And Suns, go surer, for their Proof, As if an Axle, held—
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