The Skies Can't Keep their Secret     by Emily Dickenson

THE SKIES can’t keep their secret!

They tell it to the hills—

The hills just tell the orchards—

And they the daffodils!

A bird, by chance, that goes that way

Soft overheard the whole.

If I should bribe the little bird,

Who knows but she would tell?

I think I won’t, however,

It’s finer not to know;

If summer were an axiom,

What sorcery had snow?

So keep your secret, Father!

I would not, if I could,

Know what the sapphire fellows do,

In your new-fashioned world!