THE SOUL

The Soul has Bandaged moments --
When too appalled to stir --
She feels some ghastly Fright come up
And stop to look at her --

Salute her -- with long fingers --
Caress her freezing hair --
Sip, Goblin, from the very lips
The Lover -- hovered -- o'er --
Unworthy, that a thought so mean
Accost a Theme -- so -- fair --

The soul has moments of Escape --
When bursting all the doors --
She dances like a Bomb, abroad,
And swings upon the Hours,

As do the Bee -- delirious borne --
Long Dungeoned from his Rose --
Touch Liberty -- then know no more,
But Noon, and Paradise --

The Soul's retaken moments --
When, Felon led along,
With shackles on the plumed feet,
And staples, in the Song,

The Horror welcomes her, again,
These, are not brayed of Tongue --

_______________________________

IT'S COMING, THE POSTPONELESS CREATURE

It's coming -- the postponeless Creature --
It gains the Block -- and now -- it gains the Door --
Chooses its latch, from all the other fastenings --
Enters -- with a "You know Me -- Sir--"?

Simple Salute -- and certain Recognition --
Bold -- were it Enemy -- Brief -- were it friend --
Dresses each House in Crape, and Icicle --
And carries one -- out of it -- to God --

Emily Dickinson