My first well Day -- since many ill -- by Emily Dickinson
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 --