Emily Dickinson

(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)

I Would Not Paint—a Picture - Poem by Emily Dickinson

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 about I Would Not Paint—a Picture by Emily Dickinson

  • (9/29/2015 9:07:00 PM)


    .........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!
    (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: despair



Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004



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