--Emily Dickinson
The Soul has Bandaged moments ,
When too appalled to stir
She feels some ghastly Fright come up
And stop to look at her .
Salute her, with long fingers ,
Caress her freezing hair ,
Sip, Goblin, from the very lips
The Lover – hovered – o’er –
Unworthy, that a thought so mean
Accost a Theme – so – fair .
The soul has moments of escape
When bursting all the doors
She dances like a Bomb, abroad,
And swings opon the Hours.
As do the Bee – delirious borne
Long Dungeoned from his Rose
Touch Liberty – then know no more,
But Noon, and Paradise .
The Soul’s retaken moments
When, Felon led along,
With shackles on the plumed feet,
And staples, in the song.
The Horror welcomes her, again,
These, are not brayed of Tongue .
