"I am playing with myself,
I am playing with the world's soul,
I am the dialogue between myself and el espiritu del mundo.
I change myself, I change the world."

Gloria AnzaldĂșa

17 November, 2007

Saturday Poem: Emily Dickinson

Since I was so bold as to proclaim my love for Dickinson yesterday, I thought I should post one of her poems today.

J 812

A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period --
When March is scarcely here

A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.

It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.

Then as Horizons step
Or Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay --

A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament.

4 comments:

Mary Alice said...

Some things just resonate with a part of us we hardly know exists. When that happens we feel a sudden and inexplicable satisfaction. That poem does it for me.

Jozet at Halushki said...

I love Emily.

Thank you for posting that poem.

Kristy said...

My favorite is the one that begins, "Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul." Lovely, lovely stuff.

Mrs. G. said...

Emily Dickinson rocks the house...always.