Emily Dickinson imagines faith as a bridge that stretches from the world we can see to a reality we only sense—the “Scene that We do not.” It has no piers, nothing solid for the eye to grasp; it’s almost impossibly slender. Yet this flimsy-looking structure holds the soul with surprising steadiness, as if cradled in steel, with strong railings on each side. The speaker feels a quiet awe at how boldly it carries us forward.
That bridge reaches “behind the Veil,” into mystery. If we could see the far bank and know exactly where it leads, the bridge might dissolve—faith would lose its purpose. But for our hesitant, vacillating feet, this unseen crossing is the very first thing we need. The mood is hushed and resilient, full of a trust that doesn’t demand proof.