From sheds new-roofed with Carrara
Came Chanticleer's muffled crow,
The stiff rails were softened to swan's down,
And still fluttered down the snow.
1 stood and watched by the window
The noiseless work of the sky,
And the sudden flurried of snow-birds,
Like brown leaves whirling by.
And
It sifts from Leaden Sieves-
It powders all the Wood.
It fills with Alabaster Wool
The Wrinkles of the Road-
It makes an Even Face
Of Mountain, and of Plain-
Unbroken Forehead from the East
Unto the East again—
It reaches to the Fence-
It wraps it Rail by Railv Till it is lost in Fleeces-
It deals Celestial Vail
To Stump, and Stack-and Stem-
A Summer's empty Room-
Acres of Joints, where Harvests were,
Recordless, but for them—
It Ruffles Wrists of Posts
As Ankles of a Queen-
Then stills its Artisans—like Ghosts-
Denying they have been—
To be understood and appreciated, Emily Dickinson had to wait until a major shift in sensibility and expectation occurred in the decade surrounding World War I, when Imagism, a new school of poetry-precise, stripped of all extraneous verbiage, indifferent to traditional form and content, reaching always for the radical and original image, and wholly unsentimental-had established itself, preparing the way for modern American poetry. Amy Lowell's "Night Clouds," an example of the Imagist school, shows a style far more compatible with Dickinson's verse:
The white mares of the moon rush along the sky
Beating their golden hoofs upon the glass heavens;
The white mares of the moon are all standing on their hind legs
Pawing at the green porcelain doors of the remote heavens.
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