Emily Dickinson

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

How The Old Mountains Drip With Sunset - Poem by Emily Dickinson

291

How the old Mountains drip with Sunset
How the Hemlocks burn—
How the Dun Brake is draped in Cinder
By the Wizard Sun—

How the old Steeples hand the Scarlet
Till the Ball is full—
Have I the lip of the Flamingo
That I dare to tell?

Then, how the Fire ebbs like Billows—
Touching all the Grass
With a departing—Sapphire—feature—
As a Duchess passed—

How a small Dusk crawls on the Village
Till the Houses blot
And the odd Flambeau, no men carry
Glimmer on the Street—

How it is Night—in Nest and Kennel—
And where was the Wood—
Just a Dome of Abyss is Bowing
Into Solitude—

These are the Visions flitted Guido—
Titian—never told—
Domenichino dropped his pencil—
Paralyzed, with Gold—


Comments about How The Old Mountains Drip With Sunset by Emily Dickinson

  • Tapan M. Saren (4/23/2017 8:21:00 AM)


    Excellent poem.......... (Report) Reply

    0 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: solitude, sunset, fire, sun, night



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003



[Report Error]