He fumbles at your spirit. As players at the keys. Before they drop full music on; He stuns you by degrees. Prepares your brittle substance. For the ethereal blowby 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.
Emily DickinsonAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: american
- Born: December 10, 1830
- Died: May 15, 1886
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