Emily Dickinson
poetessa statunitense
«The Fact that Earth is Heaven - | Whether Heaven is Heaven or not | If not an Affidavit | Of that specific Spot | Not only must confirm us | That it is not for us | But that it would affront us | To dwell in such a place.»
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«Could mortal Lip divine | The elemental Freight | Of a delivered Syllable | 'Twould crumble with the weight - | The Prey of Unknown Zones - | The Pillage of the Sea | The Tabernacles of the Minds | That told the Truth to me.»
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«I shall not murmur if at last | The ones I loved below | Permission have to understand | For what I shunned them so - | Divulging it would rest my Heart | But it would ravage their's - | Why, Katie, Treason has a Voice - | But mine - dispels - in Tears.»
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«Of Paradise' existence | All we know | Is the uncertain certainty - | But it's vicinity, infer, | By it's Bisecting Messenger.»
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«Shame is the shawl of Pink | In which we wrap the Soul | To keep it from infesting Eyes - | The elemental Veil | Which helpless Nature drops | When pushed upon a scene | Repugnant to her probity - | Shame is the tint divine.»
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«Sweet skepticism of the Heart - | That knows - and does not know - | And tosses like a Fleet of Balm - | Affronted by the snow - | Invites and then retards the truth | Lest Certainty be sere | Compared with the delicious throe | Of transport thrilled with Fear.»
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«Unworthy of her Breast | Though by that scathing test | What Soul survive? | By her exacting light | How counterfeit the white | We chiefly have!»
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«A wild Blue sky abreast of Winds | That threatened it - did run | And crouched behind his Yellow Door | Was the defiant sun - | Some conflict with those upper friends | So genial in the main | That we deplore peculiarly | Their arrogant Campaign.»
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«Crisis is sweet and yet the Heart | Upon the hither side | Has Dowers of Prospective | Surrendered by the Tried - | Inquire of the proudest Rose | Which rapture - she preferred | And she will tell you sighing - | The transport of the Bud.»
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«How Human Nature dotes | On what it cant detect - | The moment that a Plot is plumbed | It's meaning is extinct - | Prospective is the friend | Reserved for us to know | When Constancy is clarified | Of Curiosity - | | Of subjects that resist | Redoubtablest is this | Where go we - | Go we anywhere | Creation after this?»
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«How lonesome the Wind must feel Nights - | When People have put out the Lights | And everything that has an Inn | Closes the shutter and goes in - | How pompous the Wind must feel Noons | Stepping to incorporeal Tunes | Correcting errors of the sky | And clarifying scenery | How mighty the Wind must feel Morns | Encamping on a thousand Dawns - | Espousing each and spurning all | Then soaring to his Temple Tall.»
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«It was a quiet seeming Day - | There was no harm in earth or sky - | Till with the setting sun | There strayed an accidental Red | A strolling Hue, one would have said | To westward of the Town - | But when the Earth begun to jar | And Houses vanished with a roar | And Human Nature hid | We comprehended by the Awe | As those that Dissolution saw | The Poppy in the Cloud.»
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«One Joy of so much anguish | Sweet Nature has for me - | I shun it as I do Despair | Or dear iniquity - | Why Birds, a Summer morning | Before the Quick of Day | Should stab my ravished Spirit | With Dirks of Melody | Is part of an inquiry | That will receive reply | When Flesh and Spirit sunder | In Death's immediately.»
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«Such are the inlets of the mind - | His outlets - would you see | Ascend with me the eminence | Of Immortality.»
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«Summer has two Beginnings - | Beginning once in June - | Beginning in October | Affectingly again - | Without, perhaps, the Riot | But graphicer for Grace - | As finer is a going | Than a remaining Face - | Departing then - forever - | Forever - until May - | Forever is deciduous - | Except to those who die.»
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«The fairest Home I ever knew | Was founded in an Hour | By Parties also that I knew | A spider and a Flower - | A manse of mechlin and of Floss.»
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«The Gentian has a parched Corolla - | Like Azure dried | 'Tis Nature's buoyant juices | Beatified - | Without a vaunt or sheen | As casual as Rain | And as benign - | When most is past - it comes - | Nor isolate it seems - | It's Bond it's Friend - | To fill it's Fringed career | And aid an aged Year | Abundant end - | | It's lot - were it forgot - | This truth endear - | Fidelity is gain | Creation o'er.»
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«The inundation of the Spring | Enlarges every Soul - | It sweeps the - tenements - away | But leaves the Water whole - | In which the Soul at first estranged - | Seeks faintly for it's shore - | But acclimated - pines no more | For that Peninsula.»
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«Water makes many Beds | For those averse to sleep - | It's awful chamber open stands - | It's Curtains blandly sweep - | Abhorrent is the Rest | In undulating Rooms | Whose Amplitude no end invades - | Whose Axis never comes.»
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«The pretty Rain from those sweet Eaves | Her unintending Eyes - | Took her own Heart, including our's, | By innocent Surprise - | The wrestle in her simple throat | To hold the feeling down | That vanquished her - defeated Feat - | Was Fervor's sudden Crown.»
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