My mistress is the fragile recluse <br />running barefoot through the snow, <br />in a gown and field of white <br />where roses would not dare to go. <br /> <br />Wherever runs the breathless sun <br />how far the village lies, <br />how soft the wind that blew her hair <br />beneath the Amherst skies. <br /> <br />I’ve tasted of the liquor brewed <br />of so eloquent she told, <br />I’ve felt a funeral in my brain <br />and know of buried gold. <br /> <br />She taught me how the sun rose <br />I felt like I was there, <br />she spoke to me of flies that buzz <br />of death and of despair. <br /> <br />Too late I came to find her gone, and <br />because she could not stop for death, <br />out into the cold she ran, <br />fleeing love and out of breath. <br /> <br />Within my grasp so desperately <br />I measure every grief I meet, <br />step lightly on this narrow spot <br />with footprints of my lover’s feet. <br /> <br />I would not stop for night, or storm <br />or frost or death, or anyone, <br />until I hoped to find her safe <br />beneath the Amherst morning sun. <br /> <br />Yet before the night was over <br />I knew without a doubt, <br />the flame that was my Emily <br />grew weak and flickered out. <br /> <br />A curious cloud surprised the sky. <br />What spirit lifted there above? <br />She went as quiet as the dew, <br />it was then I knew I’d lost my love. <br /> <br />Love can do all but raise the dead, <br />The immortality she gave ~ <br />She died for beauty, but was scarce, <br />and now I weep ~ beside her grave. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />(Fans of Emily Dickinson will find several 'Emilyisms' throughout this poem ~ I hope you like it.)<br /><br />Jim Jordan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/chasing-emily-dickinson-through-the-snow/
