Musicians Wrestle Everywhere by Emily Dickinson
Musicians wrestle everywhere –
All day – among the crowded air
I hear the silver strife –
And – walking – long before the morn –
Such transport breaks upon the town
I think it that New Life!
If is not Bird – it has no nest –
Nor Band – in brass and scarlet – drest –
Nor Tamborin – nor Man –
It is not Hymn from pulpit read–
The Morning Stars the Treble led
On Time’s first Afternoon!
Some – say – it is the Spheres – at play!
Some say that bright Majority
Of vanished Dames – and Men!
Some – think it service in the place
Where we – with late – celestial face
Please God – shall Ascertain!
Poem Attribution © Emily Dickinson, Musicians Wrestle Everywhere
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