A daily poem from the complete works of Emily Dickinson.
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Like Some Old fashioned Miracle
When Summertime is done –
Seems Summer’s Recollection
And the Affairs of June
As infinite Tradition
As Cinderella’s Bays –
Or Little John — of Lincoln Green –
Or Blue Beard’s Galleries –
Her Bees have a fictitious Hum –
Her Blossoms, like a Dream –
Elate us — till we almost weep –
So plausible — they seem –
Her Memories like Strains — Review –
When Orchestra is dumb –
The Violin in Baize replaced –
And Ear — and Heaven — numb –
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Many a phrase has the English language –
I have heard but one –
Low as the laughter of the Cricket,
Loud, as the Thunder’s Tongue –
Murmuring, like old Caspian Choirs,
When the Tide’s a’ lull –
Saying itself in new inflection –
Like a Whippoorwill –
Breaking in bright Orthography
On my simple sleep –
Thundering its Prospective –
Till I stir, and weep –
Not for the Sorrow, done me –
But the push of Joy –
Say it again, Saxton!
Hush — Only to me!
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