(39) I CAN’T tell you, but you feel it— Nor can you tell me, Saints with vanished slate and pencil Solve our April day. Sweeter than a vanished Frolic From a vanished Green! Swifter than the hoofs of Horseman Round a ledge of Dream! Modest, let us walk among it. With our “faces veiled”, As they say polite Archangels Do, in meeting God. Not for me to prate about it, Not for you to say To some fashionable Lady— “Charming April Day!” Rather Heaven’s “Peter Parley” By which, Children—slow— To sublimer recitations Are prepared to go!
-Emily Dickinson