The Trees like Tassels — hit — and swung —

The Trees like Tassels — hit — and swung —
There seemed to rise a Tune
From Miniature Creatures
Accompanying the Sun —

Far Psalteries of Summer —
Enamoring the Ear
They never yet did satisfy —
Remotest — when most fair

The Sun shone whole at intervals —
Then Half — then utter hid —
As if Himself were optional
And had Estates of Cloud

Sufficient to enfold Him
Eternally from view —
Except it were a whim of His
To let the Orchards grow —

A Bird sat careless on the fence —
One gossipped in the Lane
On silver matters charmed a Snake
Just winding round a Stone —

Bright Flowers slit a Calyx
And soared upon a Stem
Like Hindered Flags — Sweet hoisted —
With Spices — in the Hem —

'Twas more — I cannot mention —
How mean — to those that see —
Vandyke's Delineation
Of Nature's — Summer Day!
                                                                                 F523 (1863)  J606


Ah, the music of the summer psaltery: Wind playing through leaves and branches, insects humming in the air, and birds gossiping. Add to that the panoply of clouds and flowers – plus the scent of flowers – and the carrying-ons of the little creatures on the ground, and you have a pretty perfect summer day. In this completely charming poem Dickinson makes her preference pretty clear for the glories of such a day over even the finest art.

Woman playing a psalterion

She begins in the trees. The morning winds have come up, buffeting the branches until the trees bend and swing like the tassels one pulls to open a curtain or call the servants. As the sun rises the air quiets and "Miniature Creatures" such as bees and swarms of gnats come out, filling the air with the rapid beating of their tiny wings. The poet is enamored by this music, but notes that it can never "satisfy". It is a tease, most beautiful when out of reach, always leaving one wanting more.   

Portrait by van Dyk. 

Clouds sometimes cover the sun. Dickinson treats the sun if it were a monarch. He shines "whole" at times, while sometimes he is "Half" or "utter hid" as if he need not show himself at all. He has "Estates of Cloud" to shield him from the gaze of mere mortals. But just as the most reclusive king will venture out for some pet fancy or other, so the sun has a "whim" to "let the Orchards grow". Oh generous sun!
Dickinson then turns her attention to earth. A couple of birds are lazing about, and a snake whispers his "silver" conversation as it slithers around a stone to find a spot of warmth. The flowers also respond to the sun. Dickinson has them slitting open their calyxes – a wonderful image – as if so full of energy that they must burst out by force. Like flags eagerly raised by embattled troops, the flowers are "hoisted" up to soar on their stems, their petal hems full of spicy fragrance. 
A glorious summer day has even more riches, but the poet admits she "cannot mention" everything. She concludes the poem by saying that even a masterpiece by Sir Anthony van Dyk (1599-1641) would seem "mean" or shabby by comparison. Dickinson isn't quite playing fair here. Van Dyk was a portrait painter, so unless you really like baroque portraits of nobility, you would have to agree with her. 

Another lovely summer poem is Dickinson's "A something in a summer's Day" (F104).