"The wizard-fingers never rest, / The purple brook within the breast / Still chafes its narrow bed."
— Dickinson, Emily (1830-1886)
Author
Work Title
Place of Publication
Boston
Publisher
Robert Brothers
Date
1890
Metaphor
"The wizard-fingers never rest, / The purple brook within the breast / Still chafes its narrow bed."
Metaphor in Context
[XII. PSALM OF THE DAY.]
A something in a summer's day,
As slow her flambeaux burn away,
Which solemnizes me.
A something in a summer's noon,—
An azure depth, a wordless tune,
Transcending ecstasy.
And still within a summer's night
A something so transporting bright,
I clap my hands to see;
Then veil my too inspecting face,
Lest such a subtle, shimmering grace
Flutter too far for me.
The wizard-fingers never rest,
The purple brook within the breast
Still chafes its narrow bed;
Still rears the East her amber flag,
Guides still the sun along the crag
His caravan of red,
Like flowers that heard the tale of dews,
But never deemed the dripping prize
Awaited their low brows;
Or bees, that thought the summer's name
Some rumor of delirium
No summer could for them;
Or Arctic creature, dimly stirred
By tropic hint,—some travelled bird
Imported to the wood;
Or wind's bright signal to the ear,
Making that homely and severe,
Contented, known, before
The heaven unexpected came,
To lives that thought their worshipping
A too presumptuous psalm.
(pp. 82-3)
A something in a summer's day,
As slow her flambeaux burn away,
Which solemnizes me.
A something in a summer's noon,—
An azure depth, a wordless tune,
Transcending ecstasy.
And still within a summer's night
A something so transporting bright,
I clap my hands to see;
Then veil my too inspecting face,
Lest such a subtle, shimmering grace
Flutter too far for me.
The wizard-fingers never rest,
The purple brook within the breast
Still chafes its narrow bed;
Still rears the East her amber flag,
Guides still the sun along the crag
His caravan of red,
Like flowers that heard the tale of dews,
But never deemed the dripping prize
Awaited their low brows;
Or bees, that thought the summer's name
Some rumor of delirium
No summer could for them;
Or Arctic creature, dimly stirred
By tropic hint,—some travelled bird
Imported to the wood;
Or wind's bright signal to the ear,
Making that homely and severe,
Contented, known, before
The heaven unexpected came,
To lives that thought their worshipping
A too presumptuous psalm.
(pp. 82-3)
Categories
Provenance
Reading
Citation
Dickinson, Emily. Poems by Emily Dickinson Ed. Mael Loomis Todd and T. W. Higginson (Robert Brothers: Boston, 1890). <Link to UVa e-Text Center><Link to Google Books>
Date of Entry
12/30/2010
