I would not paint—a picture (348), by Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

I would not paint—a picture (348)

348

I would not paint—a picture—

I’d rather be the One

It’s 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!

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Emily Dickinson

I would not paint—a picture (348)

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