Emily Dickinson

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

A Solemn Thing Within The Soul - Poem by Emily Dickinson


A Solemn thing within the Soul
To feel itself get ripe—
And golden hang—while farther up—
The Maker's Ladders stop—
And in the Orchard far below—
You hear a Being—drop—

A Wonderful—to feel the Sun
Still toiling at the Cheek
You thought was finished—
Cool of eye, and critical of Work—
He shifts the stem—a little—
To give your Core—a look—

But solemnest—to know
Your chance in Harvest moves
A little nearer—Every Sun
The Single—to some lives.

Comments about A Solemn Thing Within The Soul by Emily Dickinson

  • (2/26/2016 11:43:00 AM)

    cant tell what it means old words and sayings (Report) Reply

    Adeline Foster (2/26/2016 4:01:00 PM)

    Pansies and praises! She does such a nice job with old words. Just enjoy and it will all come clear.
    Adeline (Report)

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  • Edward Kofi Louis (2/26/2016 4:08:00 AM)

    To some lives! To care and share. Nice piece of work. (Report) Reply

  • (9/20/2015 10:27:00 PM)

    .........a fascinating and excellent write...adding to my faves ★ (Report) Reply

  • (5/5/2014 7:19:00 PM)

    Oooooh very nice poem. I like it! (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: work, sun

Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

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