I Would Not Paint—a Picture Poem by Emily Dickinson

I Would Not Paint—a Picture

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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!

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
ee 15 March 2022

hh

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* Sunprincess * 29 September 2015

.........beautifully penned...especially love the last stanza ★ 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!

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Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

Amherst / Massachusetts
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