Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (Эмили Дикинсон)

Remorse

Remorse is memory awake,
Her companies astir, --
A presence of departed acts
At window and at door.

It's past set down before the soul,
And lighted with a match,
Perusal to facilitate
Of its condensed despatch.

Remorse is cureless, -- the disease
Not even God can heal;
For 't is his institution, --
The complement of hell.

1. A Syllable
2. If the Foolish Call Them
3. How Still the Bells in Steeples Stand
4. Life's Trades
5. Unto My Books So Good to Turn

Robert Burns (Роберт Бернс) Remorse ("Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace") 1783

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1655

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