Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (Эмили Дикинсон)

* * *

A throe upon the features
A hurry in the breath,
An ecstasy of parting
Denominated "Death," --

An anguish at the mention,
Which, when to patience grown,
I 've known permission given
To rejoin its own.

1. What Inn Is This
2. It Was Not Death, for I Stood up
3. Till the End
4. Some, Too Fragile for Winter Winds
5. Gone

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1581

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