There's a certain slant of light, On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes.
Heavenly hurt it gives us;
We can find no scar, But internal difference Where the meanings are.
None may teach it anything, ' T is the seal, despair, --An imperial affliction Sent us of the air.
When it comes, the landscape listens, Shadows hold their breath;When it goes, 't is like the distance On the look of death.