"I'll tell you how the sun rose, a ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran. The hills untied their bonnets, The … - Emily Dickinson

Not “Revelation” – tis – that waits
But our unfurnished eyes –

I believe in possibility.

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 —