Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (Эмили Дикинсон)

* * *

A little road not made of man,
Enabled of the eye,
Accessible to thill of bee,
Or cart of butterfly.

If town it have, beyond itself,
'T is that I cannot say;
I only sigh, — no vehicle
Bears me along that way.

1. Fire
2. Lost Faith
3. Ventures
4. Disenchantment
5. I Have a King Who Does Not Speak

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1831

Последние стихотворения

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