A Spring Light Poem Magic

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My bulbs are “springing ” out

A light exists in spring 
Not present on the year 
At any other period. 
When March is scarcely here 

A color stands abroad 
On solitary hills 
That science cannot overtake, 
But human naturefeels. 

It waits upon the lawn; 
It shows the furthest tree 
Upon the furthest slope we know; 
It almost speaks to me. 

Then, as horizons step, 
Or noons report away, 
Without the formula of sound, 
It passes, and we stay: 

A quality of loss 
Affecting our content, 
As trade had suddenly encroached 
Upon a sacrament.

by Emily Dickinson

 

Credit: https://m.poemhunter.com/emily-dickinson/

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