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
Her Losses make our Gains ashamed.
She bore Life's empty Pack
As gallantly as if the East
Were swinging at her Back -
Life's empty Pack is heaviest,
As every Porter knows -
In vain to punish Honey -
It only sweeter grows.
Le sue Perdite rendono vili i nostri Guadagni.
Sopportò il vuoto Bagaglio della Vita
Valorosamente come se l'Est
Fosse stato appeso alle sue Spalle -
Il vuoto Bagaglio della Vita è il più gravoso,
Come sa ognuno che lo Porta -
Vano punire il Miele -
Diventa solo più dolce.
Emily Dickinson
Vota la poesia: Commenta
    Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
    No Brigadier throughout the Year
    So civic as the Jay -
    A Neighbor and a Warrior too
    With shrill felicity
    Pursuing Winds that censure us
    A Febuary Day,
    The Brother of the Universe
    Was never blown away -
    The Snow and he are intimate -
    I've often seen them play
    When Heaven looked upon us all
    With such severity
    I felt apology were due
    To an insulted sky
    Whose pompous frown was Nutriment
    To their temerity -
    The Pillow of this daring Head
    Is pungent Evergreens -
    His Larder - terse and Militant -
    Unknown - refreshing things -
    His Character - a Tonic -
    His Future - a Dispute -
    Unfair an Immortality
    That leaves this Neighbor out.
    Emily Dickinson
    Vota la poesia: Commenta
      Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
      Of Death I try to think like this,
      The Well in which they lay us
      Is but the Likeness of the Brook
      That menaced not to slay us,
      But to invite by that Dismay
      Which is the Zest of sweetness
      To the same Flower Hesperian,
      Decoying but to greet us -
      I do remember when a Child
      With bolder Playmates straying
      To where a Brook that seemed a Sea
      Withheld us by it's roaring
      From just a Purple Flower beyond
      Until constrained to clutch it
      If Doom itself were the result,
      The boldest leaped, and clutched it.
      Emily Dickinson
      Vota la poesia: Commenta