The Balloon. By Emily Dickinson

    You’ve seen balloons set, haven’t you?
    So stately they ascend
    It is as swans discarded you
    For duties diamond.

    Their liquid feet go softly out
    Upon a sea of blond;
    They spurn the air as ‘t were too mean
    For creatures so renowned.

    Their ribbons just beyond the eye,
    They struggle some for breath,
    And yet the crowd applauds below;
    They would not encore death.

    The gilded creature strains and spins,
    Trips frantic in a tree,
    Tears open her imperial veins
    And tumbles in the sea.

    The crowd retire with an oath
    The dust in streets goes down,
    And clerks in counting-rooms observe,
    ”T was only a balloon.’