Emily Dickinson — He fumbles at your Soul 315

He fumbles at your Soul As Players at the Keys Before they drop full Music on— He stuns you by degrees— Prepares your brittle Nature For the Ethereal Blow By fainter Hammers—further heard— Then nearer—Then so slow Your Breath has time to straighten— Your Brain—to bubble Cool— Deals—One—imperial&mda sh;Thunderbolt— That scalps your naked Soul— When Winds take Forests in the Paws— The Universe—is still—