Emily Dickinson: “It Sifts from Leaden Sieves”

Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

Just finished cutting and printing out this woodblock print of Emily Dickinson.  A postcard print can be ordered at Poetic Expressions.

I must confess, it’s been awhile since I’ve read any Dickinson, so I literally dusted off my volume of Collected Poems and began to re-acquaint myself with her marvelous deceptively simple cadenced and subtly nuanced poems.

One of her poems for the winter:

By Emily Dickinson

It sifts from leaden sieves,
It powders all the wood,
It fills with alabaster wool
The wrinkles of the road.

It makes an even face
Of mountain and of plain, –
Unbroken forehead from the east
Unto the east again.

It reaches to the fence,
It wraps it, rail by rail,
Till it is lost in fleeces;
It flings a crystal veil.

On stump and stack and stem,–
The summer’s empty room,
Acres of seams where harvests were,
Recordless, but for them.

It ruffles wrists of posts,
As ankles of a queen,–
Then stills its artisans like ghosts,
Denying they have been.


About poeticmeditations

A 19th-century romantic poet living in the 21st-century. The Romantic poets, nib pens, candlelight, waistcoats, and pocket watches are a few of my favorite things.
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