Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete · Emily Dickinson
Chapter 31
Chapter 27 of 146 · 1 min read
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.
IV. TIME AND ETERNITY.
