a brook in the heart

The poems of Emily Dickinson are so much fun to bounce off.    Odd, and oddly modern, thoughts that sound like "Poetry," but sometimes sound like a Shatner spoken-word turn or your emo roommate, all the while speaking straight to the heart.

I've always had 2 things in mind when writing for the harp (ensemble and symphonic stuff till now):

1] Harpists are sick of glissando typecasting
2] The audience wants glissandos

So, I've always tried to showcase the harpist with something fun and challenging, but, ya know, include lots of big sweeps that please people.

This is the first movement, "A Brook in the Heart," my response to this poem:

Have you got a brook in your little heart,
Where bashful flowers blow,
And blushing birds go down to drink,
And shadows tremble so?

And nobody knows, so still it flows,
That any brook is there;
And yet your little draught of life
Is daily drunken there.

Then look out for the little brook in March,
When the rivers overflow,
And the snows come hurrying from the hills,
And the bridges often go.

And later, in August it may be,
When the meadows parching lie,
Beware, lest this little brook of life
Some burning noon go dry!