Emily Dickinson - The Trees like Corners creaked and writhed

The Trees, like Corners, creaked and writhed
Beneath the landed Eyes –
They gaze with wonder, ever peering
At Nature’s quite surprise –

And thus across, the Heaven glowed
Where the Clouds might seem to feign,
As one has walked draped in the fire
That seems not full of pain –

Are these but bits and fragments,
The dawn of every Sleep –
Unfolding still, the vision
Nature wants us to keep?

This Milk-white Casket holds the world,
Though it can’t foresee the Day;
Yet every piece of Beauty
Doth always choose to stay –

And still invite the Glory
The wonder overcomes
The sorrow, cries, and whispers
Of every fine, in sums –

A dwindling hazel waits too long
Till the day it dries an eye;
And still the shrubs continue play
In summer, passing by –

And Nature’s endless harmony
Discerns the hearts of Fruits;
That rise and fall, in every shape –
The blooming of our Roots!