A MURMUR in the trees to note,
    Not loud enough for wind;
A star not far enough to seek,
    Nor near enough to find;

A long, long yellow on the lawn,
    A hubbub as of feet;
Not audible, as ours to us,
    But dapperer, more sweet;

A hurrying home of little men
    To houses unperceived, ~
All this, and more, if I should tell,
    Would never be believed.

Of robins in the trundle bed
    How many I espy
Whose nightgowns could not hide the wings,
    Although I heard them try.

But then I promised ne'er to tell;
    How could I break my word?
So go your way and I'll go mine, ~
    No fear you'll miss the road.

~ Emily Dickenson (1830 - 1886)

COLLECTED POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON, Chatham River Press, 1983.

(Note:  When the first set of Emily's poetry was published in 1890, it was "hailed as a literary event" and prompted the second series in 1891.  The poet who was deemed "unorthodox, idiosyncratic, and too delicate was now a poet of vision."  Her poetry was written without the thought of publication, and solely by way of expression of the writer's own mind.  Poetry which Emerson called 'the Poetry of the Portfolio.")