Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (Эмили Дикинсон)

The Hemlock

I think the hemlock likes to stand
Upon a marge of snow;
It suits his own austerity,
And satisfies an awe

That men must slake in wilderness,
Or in the desert cloy, --
An instinct for the hoar, the bald,
Lapland's necessity.

The hemlock's nature thrives on cold;
The gnash of northern winds
Is sweetest nutriment to him,
His best Norwegian wines.

To satin races he is nought;
But children on the Don
Beneath his tabernacles play,
And Dnieper wrestlers run.

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

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1739

Последние стихотворения

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