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


  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!

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

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


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