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
Felt my life with both my hands
To see if it was there -
I held my spirit to the Glass,
To prove it possible -
I turned my Being round and round
And paused at every pound
To ask the Owner's name -
For doubt, that I should know the Sound -

I judged my features - jarred my hair -
I pushed my dimples by, and waited -
If they - twinkled back -
Conviction might, of me -

I told myself, "Take Courage, Friend -
That - was a former time -
But we might learn to like the Heaven,
As well as our Old Home!"
Emily Dickinson
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    Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
    And we are waiting for the Coach -
    It seems as though the Time -
    Indignant - that the Joy was come -
    Did block the Gilded Hands -
    And would not let the Seconds by -
    But slowest instant - ends -

    The Pendulum begins to count -
    Like little Scholars - loud -
    The steps grow thicker - in the Hall -
    The Heart begins to crowd -

    Then I - my timid service done -
    Tho' service 'twas, of Love -
    Take up my little Violin -
    And further North - remove.
    Emily Dickinson
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      Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
      You'll know Her - by Her Foot -
      The finest Gamboge Hand
      With Fingers - where the Toes should be -
      Would more affront the Sand -
      Than this Quaint Creature's Boot -
      Adjusted by a Stern -
      Without a Button - I c'd vouch -
      Unto a Velvet Limb -

      You'll know Her - by Her Vest -
      Tight fitting - Orange - Brown -
      Inside a Jacket duller -
      She wore when she was born -

      Her Cap is small - and snug -
      Constructed for the Winds -
      She'd pass for Barehead - short way off -
      But as She closer stands -

      So finer 'tis than Wool -
      You cannot feel the Seam -
      Nor is it clasped unto of Band -
      Nor held upon - of Brim -

      You'll know Her - by Her Voice -
      At first - a doubtful Tone -
      A sweet endeavor - but as March
      To April - hurries on -

      She squanders on your Head
      Such Threnodies of Pearl -
      You beg the Robin in your Brain
      To keep the other - still.
      Emily Dickinson
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