The Secret, by Emily Dickinson

The Secret

Some things that fly there be, --
Birds, hours, the bumble-bee:
Of these no elegy.   Some things that stay there be, --
Grief, hills, eternity:
Nor this behooveth me.   There are, that resting, rise.
Can I expound the skies?
How still the riddle lies!

poems.one - Emily Dickinson