The Angle of a Landscape

The Angle of a Landscape—
That every time I wake—
Between my Curtain and the Wall
Upon an ample Crack—

Like a Venetian—waiting—
Accosts my open eye—
Is just a Bough of Apples—
Held slanting, in the Sky—

The Pattern of a Chimney—
The Forehead of a Hill—
Sometimes—a Vane's Forefinger—
But that's—Occasional—

The Seasons—shift—my Picture—
Upon my Emerald Bough,
I wake—to find no—Emeralds—
Then—Diamonds-which the Snow

From Polar Caskets—fetched me—
The Chimney—and the Hill—
And just the Steeple's finger—
These—never stir at all—

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Emily Dickinson

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson was an American poet. more…

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"The Angle of a Landscape by Emily Dickinson" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 18 Jan. 2019. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/12149>.

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