Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (Эмили Дикинсон)

The Juggler of Day

Blazing in gold and quenching in purple,
Leaping like leopards to the sky,
Then at the feet of the old horizon
Laying her spotted face, to die;

Stooping as low as the otter's window,
Touching the roof and tinting the barn,
Kissing her bonnet to the meadow, --
And the juggler of day is gone!

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

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1630

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