Page:Emily Dickinson Poems - third series (1896).djvu/203

 POEMS. 189

��THE SOUL'S STORM.

T T struck me every day

The lightning was as new As if the cloud that instant slit And let the fire through.

It burned me in the night, It blistered in my dream ;

It sickened fresh upon my sight With every morning's beam.

I thought that storm was brief, The maddest, quickest by ;

But Nature lost the date of this, And left it in the sky.

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