名人诗歌|Emily Dickinson - I can't tell you -- but you feel it

I can't tell you -- but you feel it --
Nor can you tell me --
Saints, with ravished slate1 and pencil
Solve our April Day!
Sweeter than a vanished frolic
From a vanished green!
Swifter than the hoofs2 of Hor百度竞价推广en
Round a Ledge3 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 prate4 about it!
Not for you -- to say
To some fashionable Lady
Charming April Day!
Rather -- Heaven's Peter Parley5!
By which Children slow
To sublimer6 Recitation
Are prepared to go!