Read more poems by Emily Dickinson: Emily Dickinson Poems at Poetry X.
375 The Angle of a Landscape— That every time I wake— Between my Curtain and the Wall Upon an ample Crack— Like a Venetian—waiting— Accosts my open eye— Is just a Bough of Apples— Held slanting, in the Sky— The Pattern of a Chimney— The Forehead of a Hill— Sometimes—a Vane's Forefinger— But that's—Occasional— The Seasons—shift—my Picture— Upon my Emerald Bough, I wake—to find no—Emeralds— Then—Diamonds—which the Snow From Polar Caskets—fetched me— The Chimney—and the Hill— And just the Steeple's finger— These—never stir at all—
Added: 19 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 4 Sep 2026 12:38 AM | Viewed: 9544 times
A PoetryNotes™ eBook is available for this poem for delivery within 24 hours, and usually available within minutes during normal business hours.
ON SALE - only $29.95 19.95!
For more information...
![[home]](http://plagiarist.com/images/home.gif)
Emily Dickinson
Print
Comments
