| BEFORE I got my eye put out, | |
| I liked as well to see | |
| As other creatures that have eyes, | |
| And know no other way. |
| But were it told to me, to-day, | 5 |
| That I might have the sky | |
| For mine, I tell you that my heart | |
| Would split, for size of me. |
| The meadows mine, the mountains mine,— | |
| All forests, stintless stars, | 10 |
| As much of noon as I could take | |
| Between my finite eyes |
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| The motions of the dipping birds, |
| The lightning’s jointed road, |
| For mine to look at when I liked,— |
| The news would strike me dead! |
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| So, safer, guess, with just my soul |
| Upon the window-pane |
| Where other creatures put their eyes, |
| Incautious of the sun |
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| ~Emily Dickinson |
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