Emily Dickinson Poems

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The Symptom of the Gale --
The Second of Dismay --
Between its Rumor and its Face --
Is almost Revelry --

The Houses firmer root --
The Heavens cannot be found --
The Upper Surfaces of things
Take covert in the Ground --

The Mem'ry of the Sun
Not Any can recall --
Although by Nature's sterling Watch
So scant an interval --

And when the Noise is caught
And Nature looks around --
"We dreamed it"? She interrogates --
"Good Morning" -- We propound?

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