Untouched by morning and untouched by noon,
Sleep the meek members of the resurrection,
Rafter of satin, and roof of stone.
Light laughs the breeze in her castle of sunshine;
Babbles the bee in a stolid ear;
Pipe the sweet birds in ignorant cadences, —
Ah, what sagacity perished here!
Grand go the years in the crescent above them;
Worlds scoop their arcs, and firmaments row,
Diadems drop and Doges surrender,
Soundless as dots on a disk of snow.
This is on one my favorite poems by Emily Dickinson. I like it because many lines of the poem describes synesthesia, a “neurological phenomenon in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway”, according to Wikipedia. (Basically, 4% of the worlds’ population can see sounds or taste colors or something like that. Fascinating.) Many people think that Emily Dickinson was a synesthete (a person who has synesthesia), but there were no brain scientists then (and synesthesia wasn’t even known to have existed) so no one could really tell.
The words are beautiful, but… I admit I didn’t understand. And I went to the dictionary more than a couple of times. You are helping me appreciate poetry more than ever before. Firmament is my word of the day. Diadems and Doges will have to wait.
You taught me “synesthesia” today, and I believe that it is a real phenomenon.
On a related note, John Steinbeck is a writer who can make me see sounds and taste colors. You’ll read him in high school.