Much Madness is divinest Sense
by Emily Dickinson

Much madness is divinest sense
To a discerning eye
Much sense the starkest madness.
'T' is the MAJORITY
In this, as all, prevail
Assent and you are sane
Demur, you're straightway dangerous
And handled with a Chain.


[link to www.youtube.com]

A fuzzy fellow, without feet
:by Emily Dickinson

A fuzzy fellow, without feet,
Yet doth exceeding run!
Of velvet, is his Countenance,
And his Complexion, dun!

Sometime, he dwelleth in the grass!
Sometime, upon a bough,
From which he doth descend in plush
Upon the Passer-by!

All this in summer.
But when winds alarm the Forest Folk,
He taketh Damask Residence --
And struts in sewing silk!

Then, finer than a Lady,
Emerges in the spring!
A Feather on each shoulder!
You'd scarce recognize him!

By Men, yclept Caterpillar!
By me! But who am I,
To tell the pretty secret
Of the Butterfly!