An Emily Dickinson Poem

Inconceivably solemn!
Things go gay
Pierce -- by the very Press
Of Imagery --

Their far Parades -- order on the eye
With a mute Pomp --
A pleading Pageantry --

Flags, are a brave sight --
But no true Eye
Ever went by One --
Steadily --

Music's triumphant --
But the fine Ear
Winces with delight
Are Drums too near --