There Is an Arid Pleasure, di Emily Dickinson

There Is an Arid Pleasure

782

There is an arid Pleasure—

As different from Joy—

As Frost is different from Dew—

Like element—are they—

Yet one—rejoices Flowers—

And one—the Flowers abhor—

The finest Honey—curdled—

Is worthless—to the Bee—

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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?

382 For Death—or rather For the Things 'twould buy— This—put away Life’s Opportunity—

951 As Frost is best conceived By force of its Result— Affliction is inferred By subsequent effect—

The Devil—had he fidelity Would be the best friend— Because he has ability— But Devils cannot mend— Perfidy is the virtue

234 You’re right—“the way is narrow”— And “difficult the Gate”— And “few there be”—Correct again— That “enter in—thereat”—

I dwell in Possibility – A fairer House than Prose – More numerous of Windows – Superior – for Doors – Of Chambers as the Cedars –

A great Hope fell You heard no noise The Ruin was within Oh cunning wreck that told no tale And let no Witness in

907 Till Death’—is narrow Loving’— The scantest Heart extant Will hold you till your privilege Of Finiteness’—be spent’—

871 The Sun and Moon must make their… The Stars express around For in the Zones of Paradise The Lord alone is burned—

413 I never felt at Home–Below– And in the Handsome Skies I shall not feel at Home–I know– I don’t like Paradise–

828 The Robin is the One That interrupt the Morn With hurried—few—express Reports When March is scarcely on—

392 Through the Dark Sod—as Educatio… The Lily passes sure— Feels her white foot—no trepidatio… Her faith—no fear—

783 The Birds begun at Four o’clock— Their period for Dawn— A Music numerous as space— But neighboring as Noon—

971 Robbed by Death—but that was easy… To the failing Eye I could hold the latest Glowing— Robbed by Liberty

447 Could—I do more—for Thee— Wert Thou a Bumble Bee— Since for the Queen, have I— Nought but Bouquet?