Aurora. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Of bronze and blaze
    The north, to-night!
    So adequate its forms,
    So preconcerted with itself,
    So distant to alarms, —
    An unconcern so sovereign
    To universe, or me,
    It paints my simple spirit
    With tints of majesty,
    Till I take vaster attitudes,
    And strut upon my stem,
    Disdaining men and oxygen,
    For arrogance of them.

    My splendors are menagerie;
    But their competeless show
    Will entertain the centuries
    When I am, long ago,
    An island in dishonored grass,
    Whom none but daisies know.