Emily Dickinson

(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)

He Fumbles At Your Soul - Poem by 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&mda sh;Thunderbolt—
That scalps your naked Soul—

When Winds take Forests in the Paws—
The Universe—is still—


Comments about He Fumbles At Your Soul by Emily Dickinson

  • Rookie Rich Foss (4/10/2012 11:10:00 AM)

    There seems to be a mistake in line 11. (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
Read all 1 comments »



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Read poems about / on: music, nature, time, wind



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003



[Hata Bildir]