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Harold Hart Crane (Харт Крейн) To Emily Dickinson You who desired so much—in vain to ask— Yet fed you hunger like an endless task, Dared dignify the labor, bless the quest— Achieved that stillness ultimately best, Being, of all, least sought for: Emily, hear! O sweet, dead Silencer, most suddenly clear When singing that Eternity possessed And plundered momently in every breast; —Truly no flower yet withers in your hand. The harvest you descried and understand Needs more than wit to gather, love to bind. Some reconcilement of remotest mind— Leaves Ormus rubyless, and Ophir chill. Else tears heap all within one clay-cold hill. Harold Hart Crane's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1188 |
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