There is a morn by men unseen

There is a morn by men unseen – Whose maids upon remoter green Keep their Seraphic May – And all day long, with dance and game, And gambol I may never name – Employ their holiday. Here to light measure, move the feet Which walk no more the village street – Nor by the wood are found – Here are the birds that sought the sun When last year's distaff idle hung And summer's brows were bound. Ne'er saw I such a wondrous scene – Ne'er such a ring on such a green – Nor so serene array – As if the stars some summer night Should swing their cups of Chrysolite – And revel till the day – Like thee to dance – like thee to sing – People upon the mystic green – I ask, each new May morn. I wait thy far, fantastic bells – Announcing me in other dells – Unto the different dawn! source: Johnson, Thomas H. The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson. Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1960