Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Emily Dickinson - #315 [1862]

He fumbles at your Soul
As Players of the Keys
Before they drop full Music on-
He stuns you by degrees-
Prepares your brittle Nature
For the Ethereal Blow
by fainter Hammers- further heard-
Then nearer- Then so slow
Your Breath has time to straighten-
Your Brain- to bubble Cool-
Deals- One- imperial- Thunderbolt-
That scalps your named Soul-

When Winds take Forests in their Paws-
The Universe- is still-