Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (Эмили Дикинсон)

* * *

I gained it so,
      By climbing slow,
By catching at the twigs that grow
Between the bliss and me.
      It hung so high,
      As well the sky
      Attempt by strategy.

I said I gained it, --
      This was all.
Look, how I clutch it,
      Lest it fall,
And I a pauper go;
Unfitted by an instant's grace
For the contented beggar's face
I wore an hour ago.

1. The Farthest Thunder That I Heard
2. The Lost Thought
3. Reticence
4. On the Tleakness of My Lot
5. Upon the Gallows Hung a Wretch

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1631

Последние стихотворения

To English version