Poesie di Emily Dickinson

Poetessa, nato venerdì 10 dicembre 1830 a Amherst, Massachusetts (Stati Uniti d'America), morto sabato 15 maggio 1886 a Amherst, Massachusetts (Stati Uniti d'America)
Questo autore lo trovi anche in Frasi & Aforismi e in Proverbi.

Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
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.
Emily Dickinson
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    Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
    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.
    Emily Dickinson
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      Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
      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.
      Emily Dickinson
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        Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
        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.
        Emily Dickinson
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          Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
          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.
          Emily Dickinson
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