2014年8月5日 星期二

He fumbles at your spirit

 
He fumbles at your spirit
As players at the keys
Before they drop full music on;
He stuns you by degrees,
 
Prepares your brittle substance
For the ethereal blow,
By fainter hammers, further heard,
Then nearer, then so slow
 
Your breath has time to straighten,
Your brain to bubble cool,--
Deals one imperial thunderbolt
That scalps your naked soul.
 
When winds take Forests in their Paws--
The Universe is still.
 

Emily Dickinson