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!
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!
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!
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.
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? (Sonnet 18)
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance, or nature's changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st: So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.