"It’s like the light,—
A fashionless delight,
It’s like the bee,—
A dateless melody.
It ’s like the woods,
Private like breeze,
Phraseless, yet it stirs
The proudest trees.
It ’s like the morning,—
Best when it’s done,—
The everlasting clocks
Chime noon."
-Emily Dickinson
CONVERSATION