EmilyDickinson

"Your Touch."

It stands a monument of history
(the shadow reaches far, past horizon,
whose massive truth o'erpowers both moon and sun)
the Obelisk of Light you've raised in me.

Whole-essence, opposite of fantasy,
it lay long unerected, languid, lone,
'til true love heard its hum, its plantive tone,
awaiting Love's tune-tap, and harmony.

But, early-broken, my flawed crystal rang
in notes unusual, 'though notes of Love.

Your special touch, first soft stroke did approve,
and awesome splendid beauty then out-rang!

Love's Carillon of mem'ries blended, sang.
What fate brings, or does not, will naught disprove.