Emily Dickinson – Poem #1225

Its Hour with itself
The Spirit never shows.
What Terror would enthrall the Street
Could Countenance disclose

The Subterranean Freight
The Cellars of the Soul—
Thank God the loudest Place he made
Is license to be still.

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COMMENTS

One response to “Emily Dickinson – Poem #1225”

1. Dave Louis says:

   11/24/2008 at 7:02 pm

   DZ,

   Thanks for this. I think her point is that if we were given a full glimpse into our own souls, we would be terrified by the darkness and depravity that would be found.

   The last two lines speak to me of the final judgment. Thank God that on that day, all we need to do is be still and trust that Christ has swallowed up all of this darkness and depravity by his death.

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