Witchcraft was hung, in History, But History and I Find all the Witchcraft that we need Around us, Every Day. La Stregoneria è stata impiccata, nella Storia, Ma la Storia e io Scopriamo tutta la Stregoneria che ci serve Intorno a noi, Ogni Giorno.
The farthest Thunder that I heard Was nearer than the Sky And rumbles still, though torrid Noons Have lain their Missiles by - The Lightning that preceded it Struck no one but myself - But I would not exchange the Bolt For all the rest of Life - Indebtedness to Oxygen The Happy may repay, But not the obligation To Electricity - It founds the Homes and decks the Days And every clamor bright Is but the gleam concomitant Of that waylaying Light - The Thought is quiet as a Flake - A Crash without a Sound, How Life's reverberation It's Explanation found.
We shun it ere it comes, Afraid of Joy, Then sue it to delay And lest it fly, Beguile it more and more, May not this be Old Suitor Heaven, Like our dismay at thee?
It would not know if it were spurned, This gallant little flower - How therefore safe to be a flower If one would tamper there. To enter, it would not aspire - But may it not despair That it is not a Cavalier, To dare and perish there?
The Spirit lasts - but in what mode - Below, the Body speaks, But as the Spirit furnishes - Apart, it never talks - The Music in the Violin Does not emerge alone But Arm in Arm with Touch, yet Touch Alone - is not a Tune - The Spirit lurks within the Flesh Like Tides within the Sea That make the Water live, estranged What would the Either be? Does that know - now - or does it cease - That which to this is done, Resuming at a mutual date With every future one? Instinct pursues the Adamant, Exacting this Reply, Adversity if it may be, Or wild Prosperity, The Rumor's Gate was shut so tight Before my Mind was sown, Not even a Prognostic's Push Could make a Dent thereon. Lo Spirito persiste - ma in che modo - Quaggiù, il Corpo parla, Ma poiché lo Spirito provvede - Separato, non si esprime mai - La Musica nel Violino Non emerge da sola Ma a Braccetto con il Tocco, eppure il Tocco Da solo - non è Melodia - Lo Spirito si apposta nella Carne Come nel Mare i Flussi Che fanno viva l'Acqua, distaccati Cosa sarebbero Entrambi? Sa l'uno - ora - o di sapere ha smesso - Quello che all'altro accadde, Riallacciandosi in una mutua data Con ogni diverso futuro? L'Istinto incalza il Diamante, Esigendo questa Risposta, Se sia Sventura, O incolta Prosperità, Il Cancello del Sapere era chiuso così bene Prima che la mia Mente fosse in seme, Che nemmeno la Spinta di un Presagio Poté creare un Varco in esso.
The Bat is dun, with wrinkled Wings - Like fallow Article - And not a song pervade his Lips - Or none perceptible. His small Umbrella quaintly halved Describing in the Air An Arc alike inscrutable Elate Philosopher.
Deputed from what Firmament - Of what Astute Abode - Empowered with what malignity Auspiciously withheld -
To his adroit Creator Ascribe no less the praise - Beneficent, believe me, His eccentricities.
To the bright east she flies, Brothers of Paradise Remit her home, Without a change of wings Or Love's convenient things Enticed to come. Fashioning what she is, Fathoming what she was, We deem we dream - And that dissolves the days Through which existence strays Homeless at home.
Forever honored be the Tree Whose Apple Winterworn Enticed to Breakfast from the Sky Two Gabriels Yestermorn - They registered in Nature's Book As Robins - Sire and Son - But Angels have that modest way To screen them from Renown. Sempre sia onorato l'Albero La cui Mela d'Inverno consunta Attirò a Colazione dal Cielo Due Gabrieli Ieri mattina - Si registrarono nel Libro della Natura Come Pettirossi - Padre e Figlio - Solo gli Angeli hanno quel modo schivo Di proteggersi dalla Fama.