The Province of the Saved
Should be the Art - To Save -
Through Skill obtained in Themselves -
The Science of the Grave
No Man can understand
But He that hath endured
The Dissolution - in Himself -
That Man - be qualified
To qualify Despair
To Those who failing new -
Mistake Defeat for Death - Each time -
Till acclimated - to.
Emily Dickinson
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"...
No Notice gave She, but a Change -
No Message, but a Sigh -
For Whom, the Time did not suffice
That She should specify.
She was not warm, though Summer shone
Nor scrupulous of cold
Though Rime by Rime...
Within my Garden, rides a Bird
Upon a single Wheel -
Whose spokes a dizzy Music make
As 'twere a travelling Mill -
He never stops, but slackens
Above the Ripest Rose -
Partakes without alighting
And p...