Poems by Emily Dickinson, Third Series. Эмили Дикинсон
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Название: Poems by Emily Dickinson, Third Series

Автор: Эмили Дикинсон

Издательство: Public Domain

Жанр: Поэзия

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СКАЧАТЬ grief I meet

        With analytic eyes;

      I wonder if it weighs like mine,

        Or has an easier size.

      I wonder if they bore it long,

        Or did it just begin?

      I could not tell the date of mine,

        It feels so old a pain.

      I wonder if it hurts to live,

        And if they have to try,

      And whether, could they choose between,

        They would not rather die.

      I wonder if when years have piled —

        Some thousands – on the cause

      Of early hurt, if such a lapse

        Could give them any pause;

      Or would they go on aching still

        Through centuries above,

      Enlightened to a larger pain

        By contrast with the love.

      The grieved are many, I am told;

        The reason deeper lies, —

      Death is but one and comes but once,

        And only nails the eyes.

      There's grief of want, and grief of cold, —

        A sort they call 'despair;'

      There's banishment from native eyes,

        In sight of native air.

      And though I may not guess the kind

        Correctly, yet to me

      A piercing comfort it affords

        In passing Calvary,

      To note the fashions of the cross,

        Of those that stand alone,

      Still fascinated to presume

        That some are like my own.

      XXXIV

      I have a king who does not speak;

      So, wondering, thro' the hours meek

        I trudge the day away,—

      Half glad when it is night and sleep,

      If, haply, thro' a dream to peep

        In parlors shut by day.

      And if I do, when morning comes,

      It is as if a hundred drums

        Did round my pillow roll,

      And shouts fill all my childish sky,

      And bells keep saying 'victory'

        From steeples in my soul!

      And if I don't, the little Bird

      Within the Orchard is not heard,

        And I omit to pray,

      'Father, thy will be done' to-day,

      For my will goes the other way,

        And it were perjury!

      XXXV.

      DISENCHANTMENT

      It dropped so low in my regard

        I heard it hit the ground,

      And go to pieces on the stones

        At bottom of my mind;

      Yet blamed the fate that fractured, less

        Than I reviled myself

      For entertaining plated wares

        Upon my silver shelf.

      XXXVI.

      LOST FAITH

      To lose one's faith surpasses

        The loss of an estate,

      Because estates can be

        Replenished, – faith cannot.

      Inherited with life,

        Belief but once can be;

      Annihilate a single clause,

        And Being's beggary.

      XXXVII.

      LOST JOY

      I had a daily bliss

        I half indifferent viewed,

      Till sudden I perceived it stir, —

        It grew as I pursued,

      Till when, around a crag,

        It wasted from my sight,

      Enlarged beyond my utmost scope,

        I learned its sweetness right.

      XXXVIII

      I worked for chaff, and earning wheat

        Was haughty and betrayed.

      What right had fields to arbitrate

        In matters ratified?

      I tasted wheat, – and hated chaff,

        And thanked the ample friend;

      Wisdom is more becoming viewed

        At distance than at hand.

      XXXIX

      Life, and Death, and Giants

        Such as these, are still.

      Minor apparatus, hopper of the mill,

      Beetle at the candle,

        Or a fife's small fame,

      Maintain by accident

        That they proclaim.

      XL.

      ALPINE GLOW

      Our lives are Swiss, —

        So still, so cool,

        Till, some odd afternoon,

      The Alps neglect their curtains,

        And we look farther on.

      Italy stands the other side,

        While, like a guard between,

      The solemn Alps,

      The siren Alps,

        Forever intervene!

      XLI.

      REMEMBRANCE

      Remembrance has a rear and front, —

        'T is something like a house;

      It has a garret also

        For refuse and the mouse,

      Besides, the deepest cellar

        That ever mason hewed;

      Look to it, by its fathoms

        Ourselves be not pursued.

      XLII

      To hang our head ostensibly,

        And СКАЧАТЬ