Emily Dickinson: Musicians wrestle everywhere - All day - among the



Musicians wrestle everywhere -
All day - among the crowded air
I hear the silver strife -
And - waking - long before the morn -
Such transport breaks upon the town
I think it that "New life"!
It is not Bird - it has no nest -
Nor "Band" - in brass and scarlet - drest -
Nor Tamborin - nor Man -
It is not Hymn from pulpit read -
The "Morning Stars" the Treble led
On Time's first afternoon!

Some - say - it is "the Spheres" - at play!
Some say - that bright Majority
Of vanished Dames - and Men!
Some - think it service in the place
Where we - with late - celestial face -
Please God - shall ascertain.


Emily Dickinson

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