Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

* * *

These are the Nights that Beetles love —
From Eminence remote
Drives ponderous perpendicular
His figure intimate
The terror of the Children
The merriment of men
Depositing his Thunder
He hoists abroad again —
A Bomb upon the Ceiling
Is an improving thing —
It keeps the nerves progressive
Conjecture flourishing —
Too dear the Summer evening
Without discreet alarm —
Supplied by Entomology
With its remaining charm — 

1. A Poor Torn Heart, a Tattered Heart
2. The Show
3. A Thought Went up My Mind To-day
4. Too Much
5. Delight Becomes Pictorial

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