Emily Dickinson — Within my Garden rides a Bird 500

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!