Questo sito contribuisce alla audience di

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
The Daisy follows soft the Sun -
And when his golden walk is done -
Sits shyly at his feet -
He - waking - finds the flower there -
Wherefore - Marauder - art thou here?
Because, Sir, love is sweet!
We are the Flower - Thou the Sun!
Forgive us, if as days decline -
We nearer steal to Thee!
Enamored of the parting West -
The peace - the flight - the amethyst -
Night's possibility!
Emily Dickinson
Vota la poesia: Commenta
    Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
    Where I have lost, I softer tread -
    I sow sweet flower from garden bed -
    I pause above that vanished head
    And mourn.
    Whom I have lost, I pious guard
    From accent harsh, or ruthless word -
    Feeling as if their pillow heard,
    Though stone!

    When I have lost, you'll know by this -
    A Bonnet black - A dusk surplice -
    A little tremor in my voice
    Like this!

    Why, I have lost, the people know
    Who dressed in frocks of purest snow
    Went home a century ago
    Next Bliss!
    Emily Dickinson
    Vota la poesia: Commenta
      Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
      I have a King, who does not speak -
      So - wondering - thro' the hours meek
      I trudge the day away -
      Half glad when it is night - and sleep -
      If, haply, thro' a dream, to peep
      In parlors, shut by day.
      And if I do - when morning comes -
      It is as if a hundred drums
      Did round my pillow roll,
      And shouts fill all my childish sky,
      And Bells keep saying "Victory"
      From steeples in my soul!

      And if I dont - the little Bird
      Within the Orchard, is not heard,
      And I omit to pray
      "Father, thy will be done" today
      For my will goes the other way,
      And it were perjury!

      Ho un Re, che non parla -
      Così - fantasticando - lungo le ore docile
      Consumo i miei giorni -
      Quasi lieta quando è notte - e dormo -
      Se, per caso, durante un sogno, sbircio
      Nel salotto, chiuso di giorno.
      E se lo faccio - quando arriva il mattino -
      È come se cento tamburi
      Rullassero intorno al mio cuscino,
      E il rumore riempisse tutto il mio cielo infantile,
      E le Campane continuassero dicendo "Vittoria"
      Da campanili nella mia anima!

      E se non lo faccio - il piccolo Uccello
      Dentro il Frutteto, non si sente,
      Ed io tralascio di pregare
      "Padre, sia fatta la tua volontà" oggi
      Perché la mia volontà va per altre strade,
      E sarebbe spergiuro!
      Emily Dickinson
      Vota la poesia: Commenta
        Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz

        Will There Really Be A "morning"?

        Will there really be a "morning"?
        Is there such a thing as "Day"?
        Could I see it from the mountains
        If I were as tall as they?
        Has it feet like Water lilies?
        Has it feathers like a Bird?
        Is it brought from famous countries
        Of which I have never heard?

        Oh some Scholar! Oh some Sailor!
        Oh some Wise Man from the skies!
        Please to tell a little Pilgrim
        Where the place called "morning" lies!
        Emily Dickinson
        Vota la poesia: Commenta
          Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
          There is another sky,
          ever serene and fair,
          and there is another sunshine,
          thò it be darkness there.
          Never mind faded forests, Austin,
          never mind silent fields.
          Here is a little forest
          whose leaf is ever green.
          Here is a brighter garden.
          Where not a frost has been,
          in it's unfading flowers
          I hear the bright bee hum,
          prithee, my Brother,
          into my garden come.
          Emily Dickinson
          Vota la poesia: Commenta