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The Soul has Bandaged moments --
When too appalled to stir --
She feels some ghastly Fright come up
And stop to look at her --
Salute her -- with long fingers --
Caress her freezing hair --
Sip, Goblin, from the very lips
The Lover -- hovered -- o'er --
Unworthy, that a thought so mean
Accost a Theme -- so -- fair --
The soul has moments of Escape --
When bursting all the doors --
She dances like a Bomb, abroad,
And swings upon the Hours,
As do the Bee -- delirious borne --
Long Dungeoned from his Rose --
Touch Liberty -- then know no more,
But Noon, and Paradise --
The Soul's retaken moments --
When, Felon led along,
With shackles on the plumed feet,
And staples, in the Song,
The Horror welcomes her, again,
These, are not brayed of Tongue --
-- Emily Dickinson
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