Poetessa, nato venerdì 10 dicembre 1830 a Amherst, Massachusetts (USA - Stati Uniti d'America), morto sabato 15 maggio 1886 a Amherst, Massachusetts (USA - Stati Uniti d'America)
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.
You cannot put a Fire out - A Thing that can ignite Can go, itself, without a Fan - Upon the slowest night - You cannot fold a Flood - And put it in a Drawer - Because the Winds would find it out - And tell your Cedar Floor.
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".
Mine - by the Right of the White Election! Mine - by the Royal Seal! Mine - by the Sign in the Scarlet prison - Bars - cannot conceal! Mine - here - in Vision - and in Veto! Mine - by the Grave's Repeal - Titled - Confirmed - Delirious Charter! Mine - while Ages steal!
To put this World down, like a Bundle - And walk steady, away, Requires Energy - possibly Agony - 'Tis the Scarlet way Trodden with straight renunciation By the Son of God - Later, his faint Confederates Justify the Road -
Flavors of that old Crucifixion - Filaments of Bloom, Pontius Pilate sowed - Strong Clusters, from Barabbas'Tomb -
Sacrament, Saints partook before us - Patent, every drop, With the Brand of the Gentile Drinker Who enforced the Cup.
I think the Hemlock likes to stand Upon a Marge of Snow - It suits his own Austerity - And satisfies an awe That men, must slake in Wilderness - And in the Desert - cloy - An hunger for the Hoar, the Bald - Lapland's - necessity -
The Hemlock's nature thrives - on cold - The Gnash of Northern winds Is sweetest nutriment - to him - His best Norwegian Wines -
To satin Races - he is nought - But Children on the Don, Beneath his Tabernacles, play, And Dnieper Wrestlers, run.
Departed - to the Judgment - A Mighty - Afternoon - Great Clouds - like Ushers - leaning - Creation - looking on - The Flesh - Surrendered - Cancelled - The Bodiless - begun - Two Worlds - like Audiences - disperse - And leave the Soul - alone.
Sweet - You forgot - but I remembered Every time - for Two - So that the Sum be never hindered Through Decay of You - Say if I erred? Accuse my Farthings - Blame the little Hand Happy it be for You - a Beggar's - Seeking More - to spend -
Just to be Rich - to waste my Guineas On so Best a Heart - Just to be Poor - for Barefoot Vision You - Sweet - Shut me out.
The Martyr Poets - did not tell - But wrought their Pang in syllable - That when their mortal name be numb - Their mortal fate - encourage Some - The Martyr Painters - never spoke - Bequeathing - rather - to their Work - That when their conscious fingers cease - Some seek in Art - the Art of Peace -.