The saddest noise, the sweetest noise
Emily Dickinson
1830 to 1886
Track 1
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It makes us think of what we had,
The maddest noise that grows, --
At night's delicious close.
Between the March and April line --
Beyond which summer hesitates,
Made cruelly more dear.
It makes us think of all the dead
Would go and sing no more.
And what we now deplore.
That sauntered with us here,
Almost too heavenly near.
So dangerously near.
By separation's sorcery
The saddest noise, the sweetest noise,
An ear can break a human heart
That magical frontier
We wish the ear had not a heart
We almost wish those siren throats
The birds, they make it in the spring,
As quickly as a spear,