Poesie inserite da Silvana Stremiz

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Three times - we parted - Breath - and I -
Three times - He would not go -
But strove to stir the flickering fan
The Waters - strove to stay.
Three Times - the Billows threw me up -
Then caught me - like a Ball -
Then made Blue faces in my face -
And pushed away a sail

That crawled Leagues off - I liked to see -
For thinking - While I die -
How pleasant to behold a Thing
Where Human faces - be -

The Waves grew sleepy - Breath - did not -
The Winds - like Children - lulled -
Then Sunrise kissed my Chrysalis -
And I stood up - and lived.

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It always felt to me - a wrong
To that Old Moses - done -
To let him see - the Canaan -
Without the entering -
And tho' in soberer moments -
No Moses there can be
I'm satisfied - the Romance
In point of injury -

Surpasses sharper stated -
Of Stephen - or of Paul -
For these - were only put to death -
While God's adroiter will

On Moses - seemed to fasten
In tantalizing Play
As Boy - should deal with lesser Boy -
To show supremacy -

The fault - was doubtless Israel's -
Myself - had banned the Tribes -
And ushered Grand Old Moses
In Pentateuchal Robes

Upon the Broad Possession
'Twas little - He should see -
Old Man on Nebo! Late as this -
My justice bleeds - for Thee!

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When I was small, a Woman died -
Today - her Only Boy
Went up from the Potomac -
His face all Victory
To look at her - How slowly
The Seasons must have turned
Till Bullets clipt an Angle
And He passed quickly round -

If pride shall be in Paradise -
Ourself cannot decide -
Of their imperial Conduct -
No person testified -

But, proud in Apparition -
That Woman and her Boy
Pass back and forth, before my Brain
As even in the sky -

I'm confident that Bravoes -
Perpetual break abroad
For Braveries, remote as this
In Yonder Maryland.

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Like Mighty Foot Lights - burned the Red
At Bases of the Trees -
The far Theatricals of Day
Exhibiting - to These -
'Twas Universe - that did applaud -
While Chiefest - of the Crowd -
Enabled by his Royal Dress -
Myself distinguished God.

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The Battle fought between the Soul
And No Man - is the One
Of all the Battles prevalent -
By far the Greater One -
No News of it is had abroad -
It's Bodiless Campaign
Establishes, and terminates -
Invisible - Unknown -

Nor History - record it -
As Legions of a Night
The Sunrise scatters - These endure -
Enact - and dissipate.

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I think I was enchanted
When first a sombre Girl -
I read that Foreign Lady -
The Dark - felt beautiful -
And whether it was noon at night -
Or only Heaven - at noon -
For very Lunacy of Light
I had not power to tell -

The Bees - became as Butterflies -
The Butterflies - as Swans -
Approached - and spurned the narrow Grass -
And just the meanest Tunes

That Nature murmured to herself
To keep herself in Cheer -
I took for Giants - practising
Titanic Opera -

The Days - to Mighty Metres stept -
The Homeliest - adorned
As if unto a Jubilee
'Twere suddenly confirmed -

I could not have defined the change -
Conversion of the Mind
Like Sanctifying in the Soul -
Is witnessed - not explained -

'Twas a Divine Insanity -
The Danger to be sane
Should I again experience -
'Tis Antidote to turn -

To Tomes of solid Witchcraft -
Magicians be asleep -
But Magic - hath an Element
Like Deity - to keep.

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What care the Dead, for Chanticleer -
What care the Dead for Day?
'Tis late your Sunrise vex their face -
And Purple Ribaldry - of Morning
Pour as blank on them
As on the Tier of Wall
The Mason builded, yesterday,
And equally as cool -

What care the Dead for Summer?
The Solstice had no Sun
Could melt the Snow before their Gate -
And knew One Bird a Tune -

Could thrill their Mortised Ear
Of all the Birds that be -
This One - beloved of Mankind
Henceforward cherished be -

What care the Dead for Winter?
Themselves as easy freeze -
June Noon - as January Night -
As soon the South - her Breeze

Of Sycamore - or Cinnamon -
Deposit in a Stone
And put a Stone to keep it Warm -
Give Spices - unto Men.

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To interrupt His Yellow Plan
The Sun does not allow
Caprices of the Atmosphere -
And even when the Snow
Heaves Balls of Specks, like Vicious Boy
Directly in His Eye -
Does not so much as turn His Head -
Busy with Majesty -

'Tis His to stimulate the Earth -
And magnetize the Sea -
And bind Astronomy, in place,
Yet Any passing by

Would deem Ourselves - the busier
As the minutest Bee
That rides - emits a Thunder -
A Bomb - to justify.

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Did you ever stand in a Cavern's Mouth -
Widths out of the Sun -
And look - and shudder, and block your breath -
And deem to be alone
In such a place, what horror,
How Goblin it would be -
And fly, as 'twere pursuing you?
Then Loneliness - looks so -

Did you ever look in a Cannon's face -
Between whose Yellow eye -
And your's - the Judgment intervened -
The Question of "To die" -

Extemporizing in your ear
Distinct as Satyr's Drums -
If you remember, and were saved -
It's liker so - it seems.

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The Night was wide, and furnished scant
With but a single Star -
That often as a Cloud it met -
Blew out itself - for fear -
The Wind pursued the little Bush -
And drove away the Leaves
November left - then clambered up
And fretted in the Eaves -

No Squirrel went abroad -
A Dog's belated feet
Like intermittent Plush, be heard
Adown the empty Street -

To feel if Blinds be fast -
And closer to the fire -
Her little Rocking Chair to draw -
And recollect the Poor -

The Housewife's gentle Task -
How pleasanter - said she
Unto the Sofa opposite -
The Sleet - than May, no Thee.