To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie — True Poems flee — - Emily Dickinson

The Hills erect their purple heads,
The Rivers lean to see — Yet Man has not, of all the throng,
A curiosity.

"Will there really be a "Morning"?
Is there such a thing as "Day"?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?

Has it feet like Water lilies?
Has it feathers like a Bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?

Oh some Scholar! Oh some Sailor!
Oh some Wise Men from the skies!
Please to tell a little Pilgrim
Where the place called "Morning" lies!"

Her Grace is all she has -
And that, so least displays -
One Art to recognize, must be,
Another Art, to praise.