Site hosted by Build your free website today!
- by Emily Dickinson

He fumbles at your soul
As players at 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 naked soul.
When winds take forests in their paws
the universe is still

Click here to go back to Quotes Main Page