Of Bronze and Blaze

Of Bronze--and Blaze--
The North--Tonight--
So adequate--it forms--
So preconcerted with itself--
So distant--it alarms--
An Unconcern so sovereign
To Universe, or me--
Infects my simple spirit
With Taints of Majesty--
Till I take vaster attitudes--
And strut upon my stem--
Disdaining Men, and Oxygen,
For Arrogance of them--

My Splendors, are Menagerie--
But their Competeless Show
Will entertain the Centuries
When I, am long ago,
An Island in dishonored Grass--
Whom none but Beetles--know.

--Emily Dickinson