505 br br I would not paint—a picture— br I'd rather be the One br Its bright impossibility br To dwell—delicious—on— br And wonder how the fingers feel br Whose rare—celestial—stir— br Evokes so sweet a Torment— br Such sumptuous—Despair— br br I would not talk, like Cornets— br I'd rather be the One br Raised softly to the Ceilings— br And out, and easy on— br Through Villages of Ether— br Myself endued Balloon br By but a lip of Metal— br The pier to my Pontoon— br br Nor would I be a Poet— br It's finer—own the Ear— br Enamored—impotent—content— br The License to revere, br A privilege so awful br What would the Dower be, br Had I the Art to stun myself br With Bolts of Melody!br br Emily Dickinsonbr br