There'S A Certain Slant Of Light, On Winter Afternoons, That Oppresses, Like The Weight Of Cathedral Tunes. Heavenly Hurt It Gives Us; We Can Find No Scar, But Internal Difference Where The Meanings Are. None May Teach It Anything, ' T Is The Seal, Despair, -- An Imperial Affliction Sent Us Of The Air. When It Comes, The Landscape Listens, Shadows Hold Their Breath; When It Goes, 'T Is Like The Distance On The Look Of Death.