His Heart was darker than the starless night
His Heart was darker than the starless night For that there is a morn But in this black Receptacle Can be no Bode of Dawn
Emily Dickinson
His Heart was darker than the starless night For that there is a morn But in this black Receptacle Can be no Bode of Dawn
Emily Dickinson sets up a surprising distinction: a starless night, for all its blackness, at least holds the promise of a morning. But the heart she describes is beyond even that. It’s a “black Receptacle” so utterly lightless that no glimmer of dawn can ever suggest itself there.
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