Emily Dickinson's Collected Poems

Part Four: Time and Eternity 132. It struck me every day


It struck me every day

The lightning was as new

As if the cloud that instant slit

And let the fire through.

It burned me in the night,

It blistered in my dream;

It sickened fresh upon my sight

With every morning's beam.

I thought that storm was brief, --

The maddest, quickest by;

But Nature lost the date of this,

And left it in the sky.