A shady friend for torrid days
Is easier to find
Than one of higher temperature
For frigid hour of mind.The vane a little to the east
Scares muslin souls away;
If broadcloth breasts are firmer
Than those of organdy,Who is to blame? The weaver?
Ah! the bewildering thread!
The tapestries of paradise!
So notelessly are made!
~ Emily Dickinson
An impressive poem laced with dressmaker metaphors to illustrate the difficulty of finding someone to lift you up on those dank days, yet there’s always someone around to bring you down on those warm ones.
The middle stanza speaks of weak souls compared to stronger ones, though its 19th century metaphors don’t translate too well.
The ‘weaver’ refers to God not fate itself, indicated by the last two lines. Each stanza a layer of the cake.
Truly a concise evocation of a slice of life conflicted.
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