Emily Dickinson Poem #513

Like Flowers, that heard the news of Dews,
But never deemed the dripping prize
Awaited their -- low Brows --
Or Bees -- that thought the Summer's name
Some rumor of Delirium,
No Summer -- could -- for Them --

Or Arctic Creatures, dimly stirred --
By Tropic Hint -- some Travelled Bird
Imported to the Wood --

Or Wind's bright signal to the Ear --
Making that homely, and severe,
Contented, known, before --

The Heaven -- unexpected come,
To Lives that thought the Worshipping
A too presumptuous Psalm --