Emily Dickinson - This was a Poet—It is That lyrics

448 This was a Poet—It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings And Attar so immense From the familiar species That perished by the Door We wonder it was not Ourselves Arrested it—before Of Pictures, the Discloser The Poet—it is He Entitles Us—by Contrast To ceaseless Poverty Of portion—so unconscious The Robbing—could not harm Himself—to Him—a Fortune Exterior—to Time