Emily Dickinson

Musicians Wrestle Everywhere

poem 157

Musicians wrestle everywhere All day among the crowded air I hear the silver strife And walking long before the morn Such transport breaks upon the town I think it that New Life! If is not Bird it has no nest Nor Band in brass and scarlet drest Nor Tamborin nor Man It is not Hymn from pulpit read The Morning Stars the Treble led On Time’s first Afternoon! Some say it is the Spheres at play! Some say that bright Majority Of vanished Dames and Men! Some think it service in the place Where we with late celestial face Please God shall Ascertain!

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