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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
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.
Vota la poesia: Commenta
    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.
    Vota la poesia: Commenta
      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.
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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.
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