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