Poesie di Emily Dickinson

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)
Questo autore lo trovi anche in Frasi & Aforismi e in Proverbi.

Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
I play at Riches - to appease
The Clamoring for Gold -
It kept me from a Thief, I think,
For often, overbold
With Want, and Opportunity -
I could have done a Sin
And been Myself that easy Thing
An independent Man -

But often as my lot displays
Too hungry to be borne
I deem Myself what I would be -
And novel Comforting

My Poverty and I derive -
We question if the Man -
Who own - Esteem the Opulence -
As We - Who never Can -

Should ever these exploring Hands
Chance Sovreign on a Mine -
Or in the long - uneven term
To win, become their turn -

How fitter they will be - for Want -
Enlightening so well -
I know not which, Desire, or Grant -
Be wholly beautiful.
Emily Dickinson
Vota la poesia: Commenta
    Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
    I watched the Moon around the House
    Until upon a Pane -
    She stopped - a Traveller's privilege - for Rest -
    And there upon
    I gazed - as at a Stranger -
    The Lady in the Town
    Doth think no incivility
    To lift her Glass - upon -

    But never Stranger justified
    The Curiosity
    Like Mine - for not a Foot - nor Hand -
    Nor Formula - had she -

    But like a Head - a Guillotine
    Slid carelessly away -
    Did independent, Amber -
    Sustain her in the sky -

    Or like a Stemless Flower -
    Upheld in rolling Air
    By finer Gravitations -
    Than bind Philosopher -

    No Hunger - had she - nor an Inn -
    Her Toilette - to suffice -
    Nor Avocation - nor Concern
    For little Mysteries

    As harass us - like Life - and Death -
    And Afterwards - or Nay -
    But seemed engrossed to Absolute -
    With Shining - and the Sky -

    The privilege to scrutinize
    Was scarce upon my Eyes
    When, with a Silver practise -
    She vaulted out of Gaze -

    And next - I met her on a Cloud -
    Myself too far below
    To follow her superior Road -
    Or it's advantage - Blue.
    Emily Dickinson
    Vota la poesia: Commenta
      Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
      They called me to the Window, for
      " 'Twas Sunset" - Some one said -
      I only saw a Sapphire Farm -
      And just a Single Herd -
      Of Opal Cattle - feeding far
      Upon so vain a Hill -
      As even while I looked - dissolved -
      Nor Cattle were - nor Soil -

      But in their Room - a Sea - displayed -
      And Ships - of such a size
      As Crew of Mountains - could afford -
      And Decks - to seat the Skies -

      This - too - the Showman rubbed away -
      And when I looked again -
      Nor Farm - nor Opal Herd - was there -
      Nor Mediterranean.
      Emily Dickinson
      Vota la poesia: Commenta
        Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
        The Tint I cannot take - is best -
        The Color too remote
        That I could show it in Bazaar -
        A Guinea at a sight -
        The fine - impalpable Array -
        That swaggers on the eye
        Like Cleopatra's Company -
        Repeated - in the sky -

        The Moments of Dominion
        That happen on the Soul
        And leave it with a Discontent
        Too exquisite - to tell -

        The eager look - on Landscapes -
        As if they just repressed
        Some Secret - that was pushing
        Like Chariots - in the Vest -

        The Pleading of the Summer -
        That other Prank - of Snow -
        That Cushions Mystery with Tulle,
        For fear the Squirrels - know.

        Their Graspless manners - mock us -
        Until the Cheated Eye
        Shuts arrogantly - in the Grave -
        Another way - to see.
        Emily Dickinson
        Vota la poesia: Commenta
          Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
          'Twas a long Parting - but the time
          For Interview - had Come -
          Before the Judgment Seat of God -
          The last - and second time
          These Fleshless Lovers met -
          A Heaven in a Gaze -
          A Heaven of Heavens - the Privilege
          Of One another's Eyes -

          No Lifetime - on Them -
          Appareled as the new
          Unborn - except They had beheld -
          Born infiniter - now -

          Was Bridal - e'er like This?
          A Paradise - the Host -
          And Cherubim - and Seraphim -
          The unobtrusive Guest.
          Emily Dickinson
          Vota la poesia: Commenta
            Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
            To know just how He suffered - would be dear -
            To know if any Human eyes were near
            To whom He could entrust His wavering gaze -
            Until it settle firm - on Paradise -
            To know if He was patient - part content -
            Was Dying as He thought - or different -
            Was it a pleasant Day to die -
            And did the Sunshine face His way -

            What was His furthest mind - Of Home - or God -
            Or What the Distant say -
            At news that He ceased Human nature
            Such a Day -

            And Wishes - Had He Any -
            Just His Sigh - Accented -
            Had been legible - to Me -
            And was He Confident until
            Ill fluttered out - in Everlasting Well -

            And if He spoke - What name was Best -
            What first
            What One broke off with
            At the Drowsiest -

            Was He afraid - or tranquil -
            Might He know
            How Conscious Consciousness - could grow -
            Till Love that was - and Love too best to be -
            Meet - and the Junction be Eternity.
            Emily Dickinson
            Vota la poesia: Commenta
              Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
              It makes no difference abroad -
              The Seasons - fit - the same -
              The Mornings blossom into Noons -
              And split their Pods of Flame -
              Wild flowers - kindle in the Woods -
              The Brooks slam - all the Day -
              No Black bird bates His Banjo -
              For passing Calvary -

              Auto da Fe - and Judgment -
              Are nothing to the Bee -
              His separation from His Rose -
              To Him - sums Misery.
              Emily Dickinson
              Vota la poesia: Commenta