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Poesie di Emily Dickinson

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)
Questo autore lo trovi anche in Frasi & Aforismi e in Proverbi.

Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
"Why do I love" You, Sir?
Because -
The Wind does not require the Grass
To answer - Wherefore when He pass
She cannot keep Her place.
Because He knows - and
Do not You -
And We know not -
Enough for Us
The Wisdom it be so -

The Lightning - never asked an Eye
Wherefore it shut - when He was by -
Because He knows it cannot speak -
And reasons not contained - Of Talk -
There be - preferred by Daintier Folk -

The Sunrise - Sir - compelleth Me -
Because He's Sunrise - and I see -
Therefore - Then -
I love Thee.
Emily Dickinson
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    Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
    The Manner of it's Death
    When Certain it must die -
    'Tis deemed a privilege to choose -
    'Twas Major Andre's Way -
    When Choice of Life - is past -
    There yet remains a Love
    It's little Fate to stipulate -

    How small in those who live -

    The Miracle to teaze
    With Babble of the styles -
    How "they are Dying mostly - now" -
    And Customs at "St. James"!
    Emily Dickinson
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      Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
      We do not play on Graves -
      Because there is'nt Room -
      Besides - it isn't even - it slants
      And People come -
      And put a Flower on it -
      And hang their faces so -
      We're fearing that their Hearts will drop -
      And crush our pretty play -
      And so we move as far
      As Enemies - away -
      Just looking round to see how far
      It is - Occasionally.
      Noi non giochiamo sulle Tombe -
      Perché non c'è Spazio -
      Inoltre - non sono piatte - pendono
      E la Gente arriva -
      E vi poggia un Fiore -
      E china talmente il volto -
      Da farci temere che i loro Cuori cadano -
      E schiaccino il nostro piacevole gioco -
      E così ce ne andiamo
      Via - come dai Nemici -
      Voltandoci appena per vedere a che distanza
      Sia - Di tanto in tanto -
      Emily Dickinson
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        Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
        I heard a Fly buzz - when I died -
        The Stillness in the Room
        Was like the Stillness in the Air -
        Between the Heaves of Storm -
        The Eyes around - had wrung them dry -
        And Breaths were gathering firm
        For that last Onset - when the King
        Be witnessed - in the Room -

        I willed my Keepsakes - Signed away
        What portion of me be
        Assignable - and then it was
        There interposed a Fly -

        With Blue - uncertain - stumbling Buzz -
        Between the light - and me -
        And then the Windows failed - and then
        I could not see to see.
        Emily Dickinson
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          Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
          Live with Him - I see His face -
          I go no more away
          For Visitor - or Sundown -
          Death's single privacy
          The Only One - forestalling Mine -
          And that - by Right that He
          Presents a Claim invisible -
          No wedlock - granted Me -

          I live with Him - I hear His Voice -
          I stand alive - Today -
          To witness to the Certainty
          Of Immortality -

          Taught Me - by Time - the lower Way -
          Conviction - Every day -
          That Life like This - is stopless -
          Be Judgment - what it may.
          Emily Dickinson
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            Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
            Why make it doubt - it hurts it so -
            So sick - to guess -
            So strong - to know -
            So brave - upon it's little Bed
            To tell the very last They said
            Unto Itself - and smile - And shake -
            For that dear - distant - dangerous - Sake -
            But - the Instead - the Pinching fear
            That Something - it did do - or dare -
            Offend the Vision - and it flee -
            And They no more remember me -
            Nor ever turn to tell me why -
            Oh, Master, This is Misery.
            Emily Dickinson
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