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)
You love me - you are sure - I shall not fear mistake - I shall not cheated wake - Some grinning morn - To find the Sunrise left - And Orchards - unbereft - And Dollie - gone! I need not start - you're sure - That night will never be - When frightened - home to Thee I run - To find the windows dark - And no more Dollie - mark - Quite none?
Be sure you're sure - you know - I'll bear it better now - If you'll just tell me so - Than when - a little dull Balm grown - Over this pain of mine - You sting - again!
Except to Heaven, she is nought. Except for Angels - lone. Except to some wide-wandering Bee A flower superfluous blown. Except for winds - provincial. Except by Butterflies Unnoticed as a single dew That on the Acre lies.
The smallest Housewife in the grass, Yet take her from the Lawn And somebody has lost the face That made Existence - Home.
Dust is the only Secret - Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his "native town". Nobody knew "his Father" - Never was a Boy - Hadn't any playmates, Or "Early history" -
Industrious! Laconic! Punctual! Sedate! Bold as a Brigand! Stiller than a Fleet!
The Sun kept stooping - stooping - low! The Hills to meet him rose! On his side, what Transaction! On their side, what Repose! Deeper and deeper grew the stain Upon the window pane - Thicker and thicker stood the feet Until the Tyrian
Was crowded dense with Armies - So gay, so Brigadier - That I felt martial stirrings Who once the Cockade wore -
Charged, from my chimney Corner - But Nobody was there!
Mute thy Coronation - Meek my Vive le roi, Fold a tiny courtier In thine Ermine, Sir, There to rest revering Till the pageant by, I can murmur broken, Master, It was I.
Heart, not so heavy as mine Wending late home - As it passed my window Whistled itself a tune - A careless snatch - a ballad - A Ditty of the street - Yet to my irritated ear An anodyne so sweet -
It was as if a Bobolink Sauntering this way Carolled and mused, and carolled - Then bubbled slow away -
It was as if a chirping brook Upon a toilsome way Set bleeding feet to minuets Without the knowing why -
Tomorrow - night will come again - Perhaps - tired and sore - Oh Bugle, by the window I pray you stroll once more!
Through those old grounds of memory, The sauntering alone Is a divine intemperance A prudent man would shun. Of liquors that are vended 'Tis easy to beware But statutes do not meddle With the internal bar. Pernicious as the sunset Permitting to pursue But impotent to gather, The tranquil perfidy Alloys our firmer moments With that severest gold Convenient to the longing But otherwise withheld.
This docile one inter While we who dare to live Arraign the sunny brevity That sparkles to the Grave. On her departing span No wilderness remain As dauntless in the House of Death As if it were her own -.
There comes an hour when begging stops, When the long interceding lips Perceive their prayer is vain. "Thou shalt not" is a kinder sword Than from a disappointing God "Disciple, call again".
So bashful when I spied her! So pretty - so ashamed! So hidden in her leaflets Lest anybody find - So breathless till I passed her - So helpless when I turned And bore her struggling, blushing, Her simple haunts beyond!
For whom I robbed the Dingle - For whom I betrayed the Dell - Many, will doubtless ask me - But I shall never tell!