My first well Day since many ill
by Emily Dickinson
My first well Day -- since many ill
I asked to go abroad,
And take the Sunshine in my hands,
And see the things in Pod
A 'blossom just when I went in
To take my Chance with pain
Uncertain if myself, or He,
Should prove the strongest One.
The Summer deepened, while we strove
She put some flowers away --
And Redder cheeked Ones -- in their stead
A fond -- illusive way --
To cheat Herself, it seemed she tried
As if before a child
To fade -- Tomorrow -- Rainbows held
The Sepulchre, could hide.
She dealt a fashion to the Nut
She tied the Hoods to Seeds
She dropped bright scraps of Tint, about
And left Brazilian Threads
On every shoulder that she met
Then both her Hands of Haze
Put up -- to hide her parting Grace
From our unfitted eyes.
My loss, by sickness -- Was it Loss?
Or that Ethereal Gain
One earns by measuring the Grave
Then -- measuring the Sun