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My first well Day – since many ill –
I asked to go abroad,
And take the Sunshine in my hands,
And see the things in Pod –
A ‘blossom just when I went in
To take my Chance with pain –
Uncertain if myself, or He,
Should prove the strongest One.
The Summer deepened, while we strove –
She put some flowers away –
And Redder cheeked Ones – in their stead –
A fond – illusive way –
To cheat Herself, it seemed she tried –
As if before a child
To fade – Tomorrow – Rainbows held
The Sepulchre, could hide.
She dealt a fashion to the Nut –
She tied the Hoods to Seeds –
She dropped bright scraps of Tint, about –
And left Brazilian Threads
On every shoulder that she met –
Then both her Hands of Haze
Put up – to hide her parting Grace
From our unfitted eyes.
My loss, by sickness – Was it Loss?
Or that Ethereal Gain
One earns by measuring the Grave –
Then – measuring the Sun –
(Emily Dickinson)
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