How happy is the little stone
That rambles in the road alone,
And does n't care about careers,
And exigencies never fears;
Whose coat of elemental brown
A passing universe put on:
And independent as the sun,
Associates or glows alone
Fulfilling absolute decree
In casual simplicity.

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  It's like the light, -
  A fashionless delight,
  It 's like the bee, -
  A dateless melody

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Some keep the Sabbath going to church;
I keep it staying at home,
With a bobolink for a chorister,
and an orchard for a dome.

Some keep the Sabbath in surplice;
I just wear my wings,
And instead of tolling the bells for church,
Our little sexton sings.

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My holiday shall be
That they remember me;

My paradise the fame
That they pronounce my name.

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With thanks to the gardener

      Emily Dickinson