There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons--
That oppresses, like the Heft
of Cathedral Tunes--
Heavenly Hurt, it gives us--
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the Meanings, are--
None may teach it--Any--
Tis the Seal Despair--
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air--
When it comes, the Landcape listens--
Shadows --hold their breath--
When it goes, 'tis like the Distance
on the Look of Death--
-- Emily Dickinson
2 comments:
Can't help loving Dickinson's language and vision. Her words keep ringing. Thanks for sharing them.
I like to post at least one of Emily's poems before the year ends.
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