Crisis Is A Hair

Emily Dickinson

889

Crisis is a Hair
Toward which the forces creep
Past which forces retrograde
If it come in sleep

To suspend the Breath
Is the most we can
Ignorant is it Life or Death
Nicely balancing.

Let an instant push
Or an Atom press
Or a Circle hesitate
In Circumference

It—may jolt the Hand
That adjusts the Hair
That secures Eternity
From presenting—Here—

Next 10 Poems

• Emily Dickinson : Crisis Is Sweet And Yet The Heart
• Emily Dickinson : Crumbling Is Not An Instant's Act
• Emily Dickinson : Dare You See A Soul At The White Heat?
• Emily Dickinson : Dear March-come In-
• Emily Dickinson : Death Is A Dialogue Between
• Emily Dickinson : Death Is Like The Insect
• Emily Dickinson : Death Is Potential To That Man
• Emily Dickinson : Death Is The Supple Suitor
• Emily Dickinson : Death Leaves Us Homesick, Who Behind
• Emily Dickinson : Death Sets A Thing Of Signigicant

Previous 10 Poems

• Emily Dickinson : Count Not That Far That Can Be Had
• Emily Dickinson : Could-i Do More-for Thee
• Emily Dickinson : Could That Sweet Darkness Where They Dwell
• Emily Dickinson : Could Mortal Lip Divine
• Emily Dickinson : Could Live-did Live
• Emily Dickinson : Could I-then-shut The Door
• Emily Dickinson : Could I But Ride Indefinite
• Emily Dickinson : Could Hope Inspect Her Basis
• Emily Dickinson : Cosmopolities Without A Plea
• Emily Dickinson : Contained In This Short Life