Psalm Of The Day. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

    A something in a summer’s day,
    As sIow her flambeaux burn away,
    Which solemnizes me.

    A something in a summer’s noon, —
    An azure depth, a wordless tune,
    Transcending ecstasy.

    And still within a summer’s night
    A something so transporting bright,
    I clap my hands to see;

    Then veil my too inspecting face,
    Lest such a subtle, shimmering grace
    Flutter too far for me.

    The wizard-fingers never rest,
    The purple brook within the breast
    Still chafes its narrow bed;

    Still rears the East her amber flag,
    Guides still the sun along the crag
    His caravan of red,

    Like flowers that heard the tale of dews,
    But never deemed the dripping prize
    Awaited their low brows;

    Or bees, that thought the summer’s name
    Some rumor of delirium
    No summer could for them;

    Or Arctic creature, dimly stirred
    By tropic hint, — some travelled bird
    Imported to the wood;

    Or wind’s bright signal to the ear,
    Making that homely and severe,
    Contented, known, before

    The heaven unexpected came,
    To lives that thought their worshipping
    A too presumptuous psalm.