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A Solemn thing within the Soul
To feel itself get ripe-
And golden hang-while farther up-
The Maker's Ladders stop-
And in the Orchard far below-
You hear a Being-drop-
A Wonderful-to feel the Sun
Still toiling at the Cheek
You thought was finished-
Cool of eye, and critical of Work-
He shifts the stem-a little-
To give your Core-a look-
But solemnest-to know
Your chance in Harvest moves
A little nearer-Every Sun
The Single-to some lives.
A Solemn Thing Within The Soul
Emily Dickinson
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Poem topics: work, soul, single, hear, chance, wonderful, golden, cool, thought, feel, sun, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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