The Hemlock

XXX. THE HEMLOCK.

I think the hemlock likes to stand Upon a marge of snow ; It suits his own austerity, And satisfies an awe That men must slake in wilderness, Or in the desert cloy, — An instinct for the hoar, the bald, Lapland's necessity. The hemlock's nature thrives on cold ; The gnash of northern winds Is sweetest nutriment to him, His best Norwegian wines. To satin races he is nought; But children on the Don Beneath his tabernacles play, And Dnieper wrestlers run.

 

from Poems by Emily Dickinson (1890)
Beclouded	"There's a certain slant of light"

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