large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_1_dickinson_64kb_40
large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_1_dickinson_64kb
English
7245
VII. THE WHITE HEAT. Dare you see a soul at the white heat? Then crouch within the door. Red is the fire's common tint; But when the vivid ore Has sated flame's conditions, Its quivering substance plays Without a color but the light Of unanointed blaze. SEVEN THE WHITE HEAT DARE YOU SEE A SOUL AT THE WHITE HEAT THEN CROUCH WITHIN THE DOOR RED IS THE FIRE'S COMMON TINT BUT WHEN THE VIVID ORE HAS SATED FLAMES CONDITIONS ITS QUIVERING SUBSTANCE PLAYS WITHOUT A COLOUR BUT THE LIGHT OF UNANOINTED BLAZE
 -- evades -- teases -- deploys; Then to the royal clouds Lifts his light pinnace Heedless of the boy Staring, bewildered, at the mocking sky. Homesick for steadfast honey, Ah! the bee flies not That brews that rare variety. IV. We play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool. The shapes, though, were similar, And our new hands Learned gem-tactics Practising sands. V. I found the phrase to every thought I ever had, but one; And that defies me, -- as a hand Did try to chalk the sun To races nurtured in the dark; -- How would your own begin? Can blaze be done in cochineal, Or noon in mazarin? VI. HOPE. Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I 've heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me. ES THE RACE STOOPS TO AN EASY CLOVER DIPS EVADES TEASES DEPLOYS THEN TO THE ROYAL CLOUDS LIFTS HIS LIGHT PINNACE HEEDLESS OF THE BOY STARING BEWILDERED AT THE MOCKING SKY HOMESICK FOR STEADFAST HONEY AH THE BEE FLIES NOT THAT BREWS THAT RARE VARIETY FOUR WE PLAY AT PASTE TILL QUALIFIED FOR PEARL THEN DROP THE PASTE AND DEEM OURSELVES A FOOL THE SHAPES THOUGH WERE SIMILAR AND OUR NEW HANDS LEARNED GEM TACTICS PRACTISING SANDS FIVE I FOUND THE PHRASE TO EVERY THOUGHT I EVER HAD BUT ONE AND THAT DEFIES ME AS A HAND DID TRY TO CHALK THE SUN TO RACES NURTURED IN THE DARK HOW WOULD YOUR OWN BEGIN CAN BLAZE BE DONE IN COCOANIEL OR NOON IN MAZARIN SIX HOPE HOPE IS THE THING WITH FEATHERS THAT PERCHES IN THE SOUL AND SINGS THE TUNE WITHOUT THE WORDS AND NEVER STOPS AT ALL AND SWEETEST IN THE GALE IS HEARD AND SORE MUST BE THE STORM THAT COULD ABASH THE LITTLE BIRD THAT KEPT MY HEART SO WARM I'VE HEARD IT IN THE CHILLEST LAND AND ON THE STRANGEST SEA YET NEVER IN EXTREMITY IT ASKED A CRUMB OF ME
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