Emily Dickinson - A Solemn thing within the Soul lyrics

A Solemn thing within the Soul To feel itself get ripe And golden hang — while farther up The Maker's Ladders stop And in the Orchard far below You hear a Being — drop A Wonderful — to feel the Sun Still toiling at the Cheek You thought was finished Cool of eye, and critical of Work He shifts the stem — a little To give your Core — a look But solemnest — to know Your chance in Harvest moves A little nearer — Every Sun The Single — to some lives