Poemsby Emily Dickinson

XXVI

 The farthest thunder that I heard   Was nearer than the sky, And rumbles still, though torrid noons   Have lain their missiles by. The lightning that preceded it   Struck no one but myself, But I would not exchange the bolt   For all the rest of life. Indebtedness to oxygen   The chemist may repay, But not the obligation   To electricity. It founds the homes and decks the days,   And every clamor bright Is but the gleam concomitant   Of that waylaying light. The thought is quiet as a flake, -   A crash without a sound; How life's reverberation   Its explanation found!