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)
I had been hungry, all the Years - My Noon had Come - to dine - I trembling drew the Table near - And touched the Curious Wine - 'Twas this on Tables I had seen - When turning, hungry, Home I looked in Windows, for the Wealth I could not hope - for Mine -
I did not know the ample Bread - 'Twas so unlike the Crumb The Birds and I, had often shared In Nature's - Dining Room -
The Plenty hurt me - 'twas so new - Myself felt ill - and odd - As Berry - of a Mountain Bush - Transplanted - to a Road -
Nor was I hungry - so I found That Hunger - was a way Of persons Outside Windows - The entering - takes away.
The Body grows without - The more convenient way - That if the Spirit - like to hide It's Temple stands, always, Ajar - secure - inviting - It never did betray The Soul that asked it's shelter In solemn honesty.
If I may have it, when it's dead, I'll be contented - so - If just as soon as Breath is out It shall belong to me - Until they lock it in the Grave, 'Tis Bliss I cannot weigh - For tho' they lock Thee in the Grave, Myself - can own the key -
Think of it Lover! I and Thee Permitted - face to face to be - After a Life - a Death - We'll say - For Death was That - And This - is Thee -
I'll tell Thee All - how Bald it grew - How Midnight felt, at first - to me - How all the Clocks stopped in the World - And Sunshine pinched me - 'Twas so cold -
Then how the Grief got sleepy - some - As if my Soul were deaf and dumb - Just making signs - it seemed - to Thee - That this way - thou could'st notice me -
I'll tell you how I tried to keep A smile, to show you, when this Deep All Waded - We look back for Play, At those Old Times - in Calvary,
Forgive me, if the Grave come slow - For eagerness to look at Thee - Forgive me, if to stroke thy frost Outvisions Paradise!
I prayed, at first, a little Girl, Because they told me to - But stopped, when qualified to guess How prayer would feel - to me - If I believed God looked around, Each time my Childish eye Fixed full, and steady, on his own In Childish honesty -
And told him what I'd like, today, And parts of his far plan That baffled me - The mingled side Of his Divinity -
And often since, in Danger, I count the force 'twould be To have a God so strong as that To hold my life for me
Till I could Catch my Balance That slips so easy, now, It takes me all the while to poise - And then - it does'nt stay -.
"Heaven" has different Signs - to me - Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place - And when again, at Dawn, A mighty look runs round the World And settles in the Hills - An Awe if it should be like that Upon the Ignorance steals -
The Orchard, when the Sun is on - The Triumph of the Birds When they together Victory make - Some Carnivals of Clouds -
The Rapture of a finished Day Returning to the West - All these - remind us of the place That Men call "Paradise" -
Itself be fairer - we suppose - But how Ourself, shall be Adorned, for a Superior Grace - Not yet, our eyes can see.
My first well Day - since many ill - I asked to go abroad, And take the Sunshine in my hands And see the things in Pod - A'blossom just - when I went in To take my Chance with pain - Uncertain if myself, or He, Should prove the strongest One.
The Summer deepened, while we strove - She put some flowers away - And Redder cheeked Ones - in their stead - A fond - illusive way -
To cheat Herself, it seemed she tried - As if before a Child To fade - Tomorrow - Rainbows held The Sepulchre, could hide.
She dealt a fashion to the Nut - She tied the Hoods to Seeds - She dropped bright scraps of Tint, about - And left Brazilian Threads
On every shoulder that she met - Then both her Hands of Haze Put up - to hide her parting Grace From our unfitted eyes.
My loss, by sickness - Was it Loss? Or that Ethereal Gain One earns by measuring the Grave - Then - measuring the Sun.
The Test of Love - is Death - Our Lord - "so loved" - it saith - What Largest Lover - hath Another - doth - If smaller Patience - be - Through less Infinity - If Bravo, sometimes swerve - Through fainter Nerve -
Accept it's Best - And overlook - the Dust - Last - Least - The Cross'- Request.
Delight - becomes pictorial - When viewed through Pain - More fair - because impossible That any gain - The Mountain - at a given distance - In Amber - lies - Approached - the Amber flits - a little - And That's - the Skies.
I reckon - When I count it all - First - Poets - Then the Sun - Then Summer - Then the Heaven of God - And then - the List is done - But, looking back - the First so seems To Comprehend the Whole - The Others look a needless Show - So I write - Poets - All -
Their Summer - lasts a Solid Year - They can afford a Sun The East - would deem extravagant - And if the Other Heaven -
Be Beautiful as they Disclose To Those who worship Them - It is too difficult a Grace - To justify the Dream.