Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (Эмили Дикинсон)

* * *

I read my sentence steadily,
Reviewed it with my eyes,
To see that I made no mistake
In its extremest clause, --

The date, and manner of the shame;
And then the pious form
That "God have mercy" on the soul
The jury voted him.

I made my soul familiar
With her extremity,
That at the last it should not be
A novel agony,

But she and Death, acquainted,
Meet tranquilly as friends,
Salute and pass without a hint --
And there the matter ends.

1. What Soft, Cherubic Creatures
2. Unto My Books So Good to Turn
3. This Merit Hath the Worst
4. A Country Burial
5. Going

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1719

Последние стихотворения

To English version