The Tint I cannot take — is best —
The Color too remote
That I could show it in Bazaar —
A Guinea at a sight —
The fine — impalpable Array —
That swaggers on the eye
Like Cleopatra’s Company —
Repeated — in the sky —
The Moments of Dominion
That happen on the Soul
And leave it with a Discontent
Too exquisite — to tell —
The eager look — on Landscapes —
As if they just repressed
Some Secret — that was pushing
Like Chariots — in the Vest —
The Pleading of the Summer —
That other Prank — of Snow —
That Cushions Mystery with Tulle,
For fear the Squirrels — know.
Their Graspless manners — mock us —
Until the Cheated Eye
Shuts arrogantly — in the Grave —
Another way — to see —
beta microsoft melts program
Harold Bloom asserts that Dickinson “achieved her greatest work” in poem 627. So many of the phrases (“The tint I cannot take,” “The moments of Dominion/That happen on the Soul,” and “The Pleading of the Summer”) resonate with the wistful moments when we know–even if we don’t know what we know. But in some way we know we are a part of the Landscapes and part of Cleopatra’s Company, and finally when Death shuts our eyes we will be able to see another way. And that will be the way “too exquisite–to tell.” But it will not be too exquisite to know. On earth we can approach this knowing in “The pleading of Summer” and in the snow. Summer calls us, achingly, to the things of this world, and snow circles us in its white safety and contentment. Such knowing does make us swagger.