Poesie in lingua straniera


Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
in Poesie (Poesie in lingua straniera)
'Tis One by One - the Father counts -
And then a Tract between
Set Cypherless - to teach the Eye
The Value of it's Ten -
Until the peevish Student
Acquire the Quick of Skill -
Then Numerals are dowered back -
Adorning all the Rule -

'Tis mostly Slate and Pencil -
And Darkness on the School
Distracts the Children's fingers -
Still the Eternal Rule

Regards least Cypherer alike
With Leader of the Band -
And every separate Urchin's Sum -
Is fashioned for his hand.
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    Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
    in Poesie (Poesie in lingua straniera)
    We see - Comparatively -
    The Thing so towering high
    We could not grasp it's segment
    Unaided - Yesterday -
    This Morning's finer Verdict -
    Makes scarcely worth the toil -
    A furrow - Our Cordillera -
    Our Apennine - a knoll -

    Perhaps 'tis kindly - done us -
    The Anguish - and the loss -
    The wrenching - for His Firmament
    The Thing belonged to us -

    To spare these Striding Spirits
    Some Morning of Chagrin -
    The waking in a Gnat's - embrace -
    Our Giants - further on.
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      Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
      in Poesie (Poesie in lingua straniera)
      Two butterflies went out at Noon -
      And waltzed upon a Farm -
      Then stepped straight through the Firmament
      And rested, on a Beam -
      And then - together bore away
      Upon a shining Sea -
      Though never yet, in any Port -
      Their coming, mentioned - be -

      If spoken by the distant Bird -
      If met in Ether Sea
      By Frigate, or by Merchantman -
      No notice - was - to me.
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        Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
        in Poesie (Poesie in lingua straniera)
        I tried to think a lonelier Thing
        Than any I had seen -
        Some Polar Expiation - An Omen in the Bone
        Of Death's tremendous nearness -
        I probed Retrieveless things
        My Duplicate - to borrow -
        A Haggard Comfort springs

        From the belief that Somewhere -
        Within the Clutch of Thought -
        There dwells one other Creature
        Of Heavenly Love - forgot -

        I plucked at our Partition -
        As One should pry the Walls -
        Between Himself - and Horror's Twin -
        Within Opposing Cells -

        I almost strove to clasp his Hand,
        Such Luxury - it grew -
        That as Myself - could pity Him -
        He - too - could pity me.
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          Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
          in Poesie (Poesie in lingua straniera)
          We dream - it is good we are dreaming -
          It would hurt us - were we awake -
          But since it is playing - kill us,
          And we are playing - shriek -
          What harm? Men die - externally -
          It is a truth - of Blood -
          But we - are dying in Drama -
          And Drama - is never dead -

          Cautious - We jar each other -
          And either - open the eyes -
          Lest the Phantasm - prove the Mistake -
          And the livid Surprise

          Cool us to Shafts of Granite -
          With just an age - and name -
          And perhaps a latin inscription -
          It's prudenter - to dream.
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            Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
            in Poesie (Poesie in lingua straniera)
            I'm sorry for the Dead - Today -
            It's such congenial times
            Old neighbors have at fences -
            It's time o'year for Hay,
            And Broad - Sunburned Acquaintance
            Discourse between the Toil -
            And laugh, a homely species
            That makes the Fences smile -

            It seems so straight to lie away
            From all of the noise of Fields -
            The Busy Carts - the fragrant Cocks -
            The Mower's Metre - Steals -

            A Trouble lest they're homesick -
            Those Farmers - and their Wives -
            Set separate from the Farming -
            And all the Neighbor's lives -

            A Wonder if the Sepulchre
            Dont feel a lonesome way -
            When Men - and Boys - and Carts - and June,
            Go down the Fields to "Hay".
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