Psalm of the Day by Emily Dickinson — Read

A something in a summer's day, / As slow 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.