(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)

Such Singing In The Wild Branches

It was spring
and finally I heard him
among the first leaves -
then I saw him clutching the limb
in an island of shade
with his red-brown feathers
all trim and neat for the new year.
First, I stood still
and thought of nothing.
Then I began to listen.
Then I was filled with gladness -
and that's when it happened,
when I seemed to float,
to be, myself, a wing or a tree -
and I began to understand
what the bird was saying,
and the sands in the glass
stopped
for a pure white moment
while gravity sprinkled upward
like rain, rising,
and in fact
it became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing -
it was the thrush for sure, but it seemed
not a single thrush, but himself, and all his brothers,
and also the trees around them,
as well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds
in the perfectly blue sky - all, all of them
were singing.
And, of course, yes, so it seemed,
so was I.
Such soft and solemn and perfect music doesn't last
for more than a few moments.
It's one of those magical places wise people
like to talk about.
One of the things they say about it, that is true,
is that, once you've been there,
you're there forever.
Listen, everyone has a chance.
Is it spring, is it morning?
Are there trees near you,
and does your own soul need comforting?
Quick, then - open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song
may already be drifting away.

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Comments (6)

A passing Universe put on, And independent as the Sun Associates or glows alone, Well expressed poem. Thanks poet.
stone that rambles alone. she says they are happy.I remember my childhood days, in the corn field, amidst verdure or after the harvest in the swamp. a strange ecstacy, an unexplainanble ecstasy glued to me.Our ancestors.one million years ago walked there.Or may be God, the creator is tracking you down and draws the accurate balance sheet.Ormay be ontologicaaly you areviewing, listening tomultiple sounds constituting the algorithm of life creation and sustenance.
How happy is the little Stone That rambles in the Road alone,
I think that since, for the first time, it rhymes its wonderful. But I don't exactly understand what she means by 'whose coat of elemental brown'
I'm doing a project on Emily Dickinson for my 11th grade American Literature class, and i need to find a poem by Miss Emily Dickinson and then analyze it, i chose this poem, but i don't really understand it, so if anybody could please explain it to me and help me to better understand it, i would be extremely grateful.
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