A Long, Long Sleep, a Famous Sleep, di Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

A Long, Long Sleep, a Famous Sleep

A long, long sleep, a famous sleep

That makes no show for dawn

By strech of limb or stir of lid,—

An independent one.

Was ever idleness like this?

Within a hut of stone

To bask the centuries away

Nor once look up for noon?

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Altre opere di Emily Dickinson...

What If I Say I Shall Not Wait!

277 What if I say I shall not wait! What if I burst the fleshly Gate— And pass escaped—to thee! What if I file this Mortal—off—

Perhaps You Think Me Stooping

833 Perhaps you think me stooping I’m not ashamed of that Christ—stooped until He touched t… Do those at Sacrament

Life XCVI. my life closed twice before its close

XCVI MY life closed twice before its c… It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me,

I’Ve Known a Heaven, Like a Tent

243 I’ve known a Heaven, like a Tent— To wrap its shining Yards— Pluck up its stakes, and disappear… Without the sound of Boards

Awake Ye Muses Nine, Sing Me a Strain Divine

Awake ye muses nine, sing me a str… Unwind the solemn twine, and tie m… Oh the Earth was made for lovers,… For sighing, and gentle whispering… All things do go a courting, in ea…

There Is a Finished Feeling

856 There is a finished feeling Experienced at Graves— A leisure of the Future— A Wilderness of Size.

Give Little Anguish

310 Give little Anguish— Lives will fret— Give Avalanches— And they’ll slant—

Before You Thought of Spring,

Before you thought of spring, Except as a surmise, You see, God bless his suddenness… A fellow in the skies Of independent hues,

His Heart Was Darker Than the Starless Night

His Heart was darker than the sta… For that there is a morn But in this black Receptacle Can be no Bode of Dawn

You Constituted Time

765 You constituted Time— I deemed Eternity A Revelation of Yourself— ’Twas therefore Deity

A Murmur in the Trees—to note—

416 A Murmur in the Trees—to note— Not loud enough—for Wind— A Star—not far enough to seek— Nor near enough—to find—

Life LVIII. Portraits are to daily faces

LVIII PORTRAITS are to daily faces As an evening west To a fine, pedantic sunshine In a satin vest.

Snow Beneath Whose Chilly Softness

942 Snow beneath whose chilly softness Some that never lay Make their first Repose this Wint… I admonish Thee

It tossed—and tossed—

723 It tossed—and tossed— A little Brig I knew—o’ertook by… It spun—and spun— And groped delirious, for Morn—

Finding Is the First Act

870 Finding is the first Act The second, loss, Third, Expedition for The “Golden Fleece”

Emily Dickinson