There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons--
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of
Cathedral Tunes--
Heavenly Hurt, it gives us--
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the Meanings, are
None may teach it--Any--
'Tis the Sea Despair--
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air--
When it comes, the Landscape listens--
Shadows--hold their breath--
When it goes, 'tis like the Distance
On the look of Death--
--Emily Dickinson