Within my Garden, rides a Bird

Within my Garden, rides a Bird
Upon a single Wheel-
Whose spokes a dizzy Music make
As 'twere a travelling Mill-

He never stops, but slackens
Above the Ripest Rose-
Partakes without alighting
And praises as he goes,

Till every spice is tasted-
And then his Fairy Gig
Reels in remoter atmospheres-
And I rejoin my Dog,

And He and I, perplex us
If positive, 'twere we-
Or bore the Garden in the Brain
This Curiosity-

But He, the best Logician,
Refers my clumsy eye-
To just vibrating Blossoms!
An Exquisite Reply!

Emily Dickinson