Fantasy

I dreamed she curtsied once and smiled
Then took me by the hand
And led me through her meadow green
Midst bees and blossoms grand

See yonder, ‘neath the canopy
Where hawks and owls do reign
Where doe and fox and lizards roam
In happy dearth of man

That’s where we’ll take our lunch today
That’s where we’ll sing our song
Until the evening shades bespeak
It’s time we must go home

I’ll whisper words, you hum the tune
Together we’ll create
A blend of thought and harmony
That will our friends elate

 

A day to remember, the 10th of December

December 10th
Anything in common?  I’m stretching the analogy a bit because the light bulb was invented just about the time Emily died, but she was a keen observer of light as you can see from the beginning stanzas of these poems.
There is a certain slant of light
On winter afternoons
That oppresses like the weight
Of cathedral tunes
 
It’s like the light,-
A fashionless delight
It’s like the bee,-
A dateless melody.
 
The day came slow, till five o’clock,
Then sprang before the hills
Like hindered rubies or the light
A sudden musket spills.
   
And one of my favorites
 
I’ll tell you how the sun rose,-
A ribbon at a time.
The steeples bathed in amethyst,
The news like squirrels ran.