He Fumbles At Your Soul

Emily Dickinson

315

He fumbles at your Soul
As Players at the Keys
Before they drop full Music on—
He stuns you by degrees—
Prepares your brittle Nature
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 the Paws—
The Universe—is still—

Next 10 Poems

• Emily Dickinson : He Fumbles At Your Spirit
• Emily Dickinson : He Gave Away His Life
• Emily Dickinson : He Is Alive, This Morning-
• Emily Dickinson : He Lived The Life Of Ambush
• Emily Dickinson : He Outstripped Time With But A Bout
• Emily Dickinson : He Parts Himself-like Leaves
• Emily Dickinson : He Preached Upon 'breadth' Till It Argued Him Narrow-
• Emily Dickinson : He Put The Belt Around My Life
• Emily Dickinson : He Scanned It-staggered-
• Emily Dickinson : He Strained My Faith

Previous 10 Poems

• Emily Dickinson : He Found My Being-set It Up
• Emily Dickinson : He Fought Like Those Who've Nought To Lose
• Emily Dickinson : He Forgot-and I-remembered
• Emily Dickinson : He Ate And Drank The Precious Words-
• Emily Dickinson : Have You Got A Brook In Your Little Heart
• Emily Dickinson : Have Any Like Myself
• Emily Dickinson : Had We Our Senses
• Emily Dickinson : Had We Known The Ton She Bore
• Emily Dickinson : Had This One Day Not Been
• Emily Dickinson : Had I Presumed To Hope