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Emily Dickinson Poem 157
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Musicians wrestle everywhere —

All day — among the crowded air

I hear the silver strife —

And — waking — long before the morn —

Such transport breaks upon the town

I think it that "New Life"!

If is not Bird — it has no nest —

Nor "Band" — in brass and scarlet — drest —

Nor Tamborin — nor Man —

It is not Hymn from pulpit read —

The "Morning Stars" the Treble led

On Time's first Afternoon!

Some — say — it is "the Spheres" — at play!

Some say that bright Majority

Of vanished Dames — and Men!

Some — think it service in the place

Where we — with late — celestial face —

Please God — shall Ascertain!

Source: https://en.m.wikisource.org/wiki/Musicians_wrestle_everywhere_—

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3 years ago