Explore "The Oriole" by Emily Dickinson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
One of the ones that Midas touched, / Who failed to touch us all, / Was that confiding prodigal, / The blissful oriole.
So drunk, he disavows it / With badinage divine; / So dazzling, we mistake him / For an alighting mine.
A pleader, a dissembler, / An epicure, a thief, -- / Betimes an oratorio, / An ecstasy in chief;
The Jesuit of orchards, / He cheats as he enchants / Of an entire attar / For his decamping wants.
The splendor of a Burmah, / The meteor of birds, / Departing like a pageant / Of ballads and of bards.
I never thought that Jason sought / For any golden fleece; / But then I am a rural man, / With thoughts that make for peace.
But if there were a Jason, / Tradition suffer me / Behold his lost emolument / Upon the apple-tree.