Emily Dickinson
He fumbles at your Soul
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 hold Forests in their Paws —
The Universe — is still —