Poetessa, nato venerdì 10 dicembre 1830 a Amherst, Massachusetts (USA - Stati Uniti d'America), morto sabato 15 maggio 1886 a Amherst, Massachusetts (USA - Stati Uniti d'America)
It troubled me as once I was - For I was once a Child - Concluding how an atom - fell - And yet the Heavens - held - The Heavens weighed the most - by far - Yet Blue - and solid - stood - Without a Bolt - that I could prove - Might Giants - understand?
Life set me larger - problems - Some I shall keep - to solve Till Algebra is easier - Or simpler proved - above -
Then - too - be comprehended - What sorer - puzzled me - Why Heaven did not break away - And tumble - Blue - on me.
There is a pain - so utter - It swallows Being up - Then covers the Abyss with Trance - So Memory can step Around - across - upon it - As One within a Swoon - Goes safely - where an open eye - Would drop Him - Bone by Bone.
Three times - we parted - Breath - and I - Three times - He would not go - But strove to stir the flickering fan The Waters - strove to stay. Three Times - the Billows threw me up - Then caught me - like a Ball - Then made Blue faces in my face - And pushed away a sail
That crawled Leagues off - I liked to see - For thinking - While I die - How pleasant to behold a Thing Where Human faces - be -
The Waves grew sleepy - Breath - did not - The Winds - like Children - lulled - Then Sunrise kissed my Chrysalis - And I stood up - and lived.
It always felt to me - a wrong To that Old Moses - done - To let him see - the Canaan - Without the entering - And tho' in soberer moments - No Moses there can be I'm satisfied - the Romance In point of injury -
Surpasses sharper stated - Of Stephen - or of Paul - For these - were only put to death - While God's adroiter will
On Moses - seemed to fasten In tantalizing Play As Boy - should deal with lesser Boy - To show supremacy -
The fault - was doubtless Israel's - Myself - had banned the Tribes - And ushered Grand Old Moses In Pentateuchal Robes
Upon the Broad Possession 'Twas little - He should see - Old Man on Nebo! Late as this - My justice bleeds - for Thee!
When I was small, a Woman died - Today - her Only Boy Went up from the Potomac - His face all Victory To look at her - How slowly The Seasons must have turned Till Bullets clipt an Angle And He passed quickly round -
If pride shall be in Paradise - Ourself cannot decide - Of their imperial Conduct - No person testified -
But, proud in Apparition - That Woman and her Boy Pass back and forth, before my Brain As even in the sky -
I'm confident that Bravoes - Perpetual break abroad For Braveries, remote as this In Yonder Maryland.
Like Mighty Foot Lights - burned the Red At Bases of the Trees - The far Theatricals of Day Exhibiting - to These - 'Twas Universe - that did applaud - While Chiefest - of the Crowd - Enabled by his Royal Dress - Myself distinguished God.
The Battle fought between the Soul And No Man - is the One Of all the Battles prevalent - By far the Greater One - No News of it is had abroad - It's Bodiless Campaign Establishes, and terminates - Invisible - Unknown -
Nor History - record it - As Legions of a Night The Sunrise scatters - These endure - Enact - and dissipate.
I think I was enchanted When first a sombre Girl - I read that Foreign Lady - The Dark - felt beautiful - And whether it was noon at night - Or only Heaven - at noon - For very Lunacy of Light I had not power to tell -
The Bees - became as Butterflies - The Butterflies - as Swans - Approached - and spurned the narrow Grass - And just the meanest Tunes
That Nature murmured to herself To keep herself in Cheer - I took for Giants - practising Titanic Opera -
The Days - to Mighty Metres stept - The Homeliest - adorned As if unto a Jubilee 'Twere suddenly confirmed -
I could not have defined the change - Conversion of the Mind Like Sanctifying in the Soul - Is witnessed - not explained -
'Twas a Divine Insanity - The Danger to be sane Should I again experience - 'Tis Antidote to turn -
To Tomes of solid Witchcraft - Magicians be asleep - But Magic - hath an Element Like Deity - to keep.
What care the Dead, for Chanticleer - What care the Dead for Day? 'Tis late your Sunrise vex their face - And Purple Ribaldry - of Morning Pour as blank on them As on the Tier of Wall The Mason builded, yesterday, And equally as cool -
What care the Dead for Summer? The Solstice had no Sun Could melt the Snow before their Gate - And knew One Bird a Tune -
Could thrill their Mortised Ear Of all the Birds that be - This One - beloved of Mankind Henceforward cherished be -
What care the Dead for Winter? Themselves as easy freeze - June Noon - as January Night - As soon the South - her Breeze
Of Sycamore - or Cinnamon - Deposit in a Stone And put a Stone to keep it Warm - Give Spices - unto Men.
To interrupt His Yellow Plan The Sun does not allow Caprices of the Atmosphere - And even when the Snow Heaves Balls of Specks, like Vicious Boy Directly in His Eye - Does not so much as turn His Head - Busy with Majesty -
'Tis His to stimulate the Earth - And magnetize the Sea - And bind Astronomy, in place, Yet Any passing by
Would deem Ourselves - the busier As the minutest Bee That rides - emits a Thunder - A Bomb - to justify.