A poem in a spacesuit

Today's Dickinsonian oracle is flapping the pages, just dying to get out from between the covers and into the cool, effervescence atmosphere of cyberspace. So here it is:

They have a little Odor - that to me
Is metre - nay - 'tis Poesy -
And spiciest at fading - celebrate -
A Habit - of a Laureate
(E. Dickinson, 505)

So there it is. YOU try to keep spicy poesy in a book when it wants to get out.

P.S. Spell check would like to replace "spiciest" with "spacesuit." That certainly changes things.