Further Poems of Emily Dickinson/The tint I cannot take is best,
THE tint I cannot take is best,The color too remoteThat I could show it in bazaarA guinea at a sight—
The fine impalpable arrayThat swaggers on the eyeLike Cleopatra's companyRepeated in the sky—
The moments of dominionThat happen on the SoulAnd leave it with a discontentToo exquisite to tell—
The eager look on landscapesAs if they just repressedSome secret that was pushing,Like chariots, in the breast—
The pleading of the Summer,That other prank of snowThat covers mystery with tulleFor fear the squirrels know—
Their graspless manners mock us,Until the cheated eyeShuts arrogantly in the grave,Another way to see.