Emily's Space

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.

Emily Dickinson