Ended, ere it begun -, di Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

Ended, ere it begun -

The Title was scarcely told

When the Preface perished from Consciousness

The Story, unrevealed -

Had it been mine, to print!

Had it been yours, to read!

That it was not Our privilege

The interdict of God -

#Americans #Women #XIXCentury

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Altre opere di Emily Dickinson...

To my Quick Ear the Leaves Conferred;

To my quick ear the leaves conferr… The bushes they were bells; I could not find a privacy From Nature’s sentinels. In cave if I presumed to hide,

This Is a Blossom of the Brain

945 This is a Blossom of the Brain— A small—italic Seed Lodged by Design or Happening The Spirit fructified—

Summer Shower

A drop fell on the apple tree, Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh. A few went out to help the brook,

Heaven Has Different Signs—to Me

“Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn, A mighty look runs round the Worl…

The Daisy Follows Soft the Sun

106 The Daisy follows soft the Sun— And when his golden walk is done— Sits shyly at his feet— He—waking—finds the flower there—

No Man Can Compass a Despair

477 No Man can compass a Despair— As round a Goalless Road No faster than a Mile at once The Traveller proceed—

A Bird Came Down

A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw. And then he drank a dew

Of Being Is a Bird

653 Of Being is a Bird The likest to the Down An Easy Breeze do put afloat The General Heavens—upon—

He Touched Me, So I Live to Know

506 He touched me, so I live to know That such a day, permitted so, I groped upon his breast— It was a boundless place to me

Impossibility, Like Wine

838 Impossibility, like Wine Exhilarates the Man Who tastes it; Possibility Is flavorless—Combine

Before the Ice Is in the Pools

37 Before the ice is in the pools— Before the skaters go, Or any check at nightfall Is tarnished by the snow—

To Venerate the Simple Days

57 To venerate the simple days Which lead the seasons by, Needs but to remember That from you or I,

I Measure Every Grief I Meet (561)

I measure every Grief I meet With narrow, probing, Eyes— I wonder if It weighs like Mine— Or has an Easier size. I wonder if They bore it long—

The Going From a World We Know

The going from a world we know To one a wonder still Is like the child’s adversity Whose vista is a hill, Behind the hill is sorcery

Dare You See a Soul at the White Heat?

365 Dare you see a Soul at the White… Then crouch within the door— Red—is the Fire’s common tint— But when the vivid Ore

Emily Dickinson