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Эмили Элизабет Дикинсон/ Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
| Victory comes late Victory comes late And is held low to freezing lips Too rapt with frost To take it How sweet it would have tasted Just a Drop Was God so economical? His Table's spread too high for Us Unless We dine on tiptoe Crumbs—fit such little mouths Cherries—suit Robbins The Eagle's Golden Breakfast strangles Them God keep His Oath to Sparrows Who of little Love—know how to starve When Night is almost done When Night is almost done And Sunrise grows so near That we can touch the Spaces It's time to smooth the Hair And get the Dimples ready And wonder we could care For that old-faded Midnight That frightened-but an Hour You know that Portrait in the Moon You know that Portrait in the Moon So tell me who 'tis like The very Brow the stooping eyes A fog for Say Whose Sake? The very Pattern of the Cheek It varies in the Chin But Ishmael since we met 'tis long And fashions intervene When Moon's at full 'Tis Thou I say My lips just hold the name When crescent Thou art worn I note But there the Golden Same And when Some Night Bold slashing Clouds Cut Thee away from Me That's easier than the other film That glazes Holiday You left me, sweet, two legacies, (Bequest) You left me, sweet, two legacies, A legacy of love A Heavenly Father would content, Had He the offer of; You left me boundaries of pain Capacious as the sea, Between eternity and time, Your consciousness and me. | |
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