517 <br /> <br />He parts Himself—like Leaves— <br />And then—He closes up— <br />Then stands upon the Bonnet <br />Of Any Buttercup— <br /> <br />And then He runs against <br />And oversets a Rose— <br />And then does Nothing— <br />Then away upon a Jib—He goes— <br /> <br />And dangles like a Mote <br />Suspended in the Noon— <br />Uncertain—to return Below— <br />Or settle in the Moon— <br /> <br />What come of Him—at Night— <br />The privilege to say <br />Be limited by Ignorance— <br />What come of Him—That Day— <br /> <br />The Frost—possess the World— <br />In Cabinets—be shown— <br />A Sepulchre of quaintest Floss— <br />An Abbey—a Cocoon—<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/he-parts-himself-like-leaves/
