(...for Emily Dickinson fans)
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 hills
That science cannot overtake,
But human nature feels.
It waits upon the lawn ;
It shows the furthest tree
Upon the furthest slope we know :
It almost speaks to me.
Then, as horizons step,
Or noons report away,Without the formula of sound,
It passes and we stay.
Affecting our content,
As trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a sacrament.
~ Emily Dickenson
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| Spring 2012 |
