Posted by obsidian on January 15, 2011, at 12:27:53
by Emily Dickinson
There's a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons
That oppresses, like the weight
Of cathedral tunes.Heavenly hurt it gives us;
We can find no scar,
But internal difference
Where the meanings, are.None may teach it anything,
'T is the seal, despair, --
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the air.When it comes, the landscape listens,
Shadows hold their breath;
When it goes, 't is like the distance
On the look of death.
poster:obsidian
thread:976863
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/social/20110111/msgs/976863.html