Wednesday, January 8, 2014

from Leaden Sieves

It sifts from Leaden Sieves --
It powders all the Wood.
It fills with Alabaster Wool
The Wrinkles of the Road --

It makes an Even Face
Of Mountain, and of Plain --
Unbroken Forehead from the East
Unto the East again --

It reaches to the Fence --
It wraps it Rail by Rail
Till it is lost in Fleeces --
It deals Celestial Vail

To Stump, and Stack -- and Stem --
A Summer's empty Room --
Acres of Joints, where Harvests were,
Recordless, but for them --

It Ruffles Wrists of Posts
As Ankles of a Queen --
Then stills its Artisans -- like Ghosts --
Denying they have been --


~ Emily Dickinson

3 comments:

  1. Aaaah, so beautiful!! I wrote a very bad poem about snow on my blog some years ago. Wish is read this then and realised how trite mine was!

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  2. Beautiful ED poem, MK!
    Brrrrrrrr. Stay warm!

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  3. I had never read this poem before, and I like it very much. Better than I like snow. :-)

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