Poesie in lingua straniera


Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
in Poesie (Poesie in lingua straniera)
To hear an Oriole sing
May be a common thing -
Or only a divine.
It is not of the Bird
Who sings the same, unheard,
As unto Crowd -

The Fashion of the Ear
Attireth that it hear
In Dun, or fair -

So whether it be Rune,
Or whether it be din -
Is of within.

The "Tune is in the Tree -"
The Skeptic - showeth me -
"No Sir! In Thee!"
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    Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
    in Poesie (Poesie in lingua straniera)
    I think the Hemlock likes to stand
    Upon a Marge of Snow -
    It suits his own Austerity -
    And satisfies an awe
    That men, must slake in Wilderness -
    And in the Desert - cloy -
    An hunger for the Hoar, the Bald -
    Lapland's - necessity -

    The Hemlock's nature thrives - on cold -
    The Gnash of Northern winds
    Is sweetest nutriment - to him -
    His best Norwegian Wines -

    To satin Races - he is nought -
    But Children on the Don,
    Beneath his Tabernacles, play,
    And Dnieper Wrestlers, run.
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      Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
      in Poesie (Poesie in lingua straniera)
      Sweet - You forgot - but I remembered
      Every time - for Two -
      So that the Sum be never hindered
      Through Decay of You -
      Say if I erred? Accuse my Farthings -
      Blame the little Hand
      Happy it be for You - a Beggar's -
      Seeking More - to spend -

      Just to be Rich - to waste my Guineas
      On so Best a Heart -
      Just to be Poor - for Barefoot Vision
      You - Sweet - Shut me out.
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        Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
        in Poesie (Poesie in lingua straniera)
        I had no Cause to be awake -
        My Best - was gone to sleep -
        And Morn a new politeness took -
        And failed to wake them up -
        But called the others - clear -
        And passed their Curtains by -
        Sweet Morning - When I oversleep -
        Knock - Recollect - to Me -

        I looked at Sunrise - Once -
        And then I looked at Them -
        And wishfulness in me arose -
        For Circumstance the same -

        'Twas such an Ample Peace -
        It could not hold a Sigh -
        'Twas Sabbath - with the Bells divorced -
        'Twas Sunset - all the Day -

        So choosing but a Gown -
        And taking but a Prayer -
        The only Raiment I should need -
        I struggled - and was There.
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          Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
          in Poesie (Poesie in lingua straniera)
          The Province of the Saved
          Should be the Art - To Save -
          Through Skill obtained in Themselves -
          The Science of the Grave
          No Man can understand
          But He that hath endured
          The Dissolution - in Himself -
          That Man - be qualified

          To qualify Despair
          To Those who failing new -
          Mistake Defeat for Death - Each time -
          Till acclimated - to.
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