Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete. Эмили Дикинсон

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.

III

      Alter? When the hills do.

      Falter? When the sun

      Question if his glory

      Be the perfect one.

      Surfeit? When the daffodil

      Doth of the dew:

      Even as herself, O friend!

      I will of you!

IVSUSPENSE

      Elysium is as far as to

      The very nearest room,

      If in that room a friend await

      Felicity or doom.

      What fortitude the soul contains,

      That it can so endure

      The accent of a coming foot,

      The opening of a door!

VSURRENDER

      Doubt me, my dim companion!

      Why, God would be content

      With but a fraction of the love

      Poured thee without a stint.

      The whole of me, forever,

      What more the woman can, —

      Say quick, that I may dower thee

      With last delight I own!

      It cannot be my spirit,

      For that was thine before;

      I ceded all of dust I knew, —

      What opulence the more

      Had I, a humble maiden,

      Whose farthest of degree

      Was that she might,

      Some distant heaven,

      Dwell timidly with thee!

VI

      If you were coming in the fall,

      I'd brush the summer by

      With half a smile and half a spurn,

      As housewives do a fly.

      If I could see you in a year,

      I'd wind the months in balls,

      And put them each in separate drawers,

      Until their time befalls.

      If only centuries delayed,

      I'd count them on my hand,

      Subtracting till my fingers dropped

      Into Van Diemen's land.

      If certain, when this life was out,

      That yours and mine should be,

      I'd toss it yonder like a rind,

      And taste eternity.

      But now, all ignorant of the length

      Of time's uncertain wing,

      It goads me, like the goblin bee,

      That will not state its sting.

VIIWITH A FLOWER

      I hide myself within my flower,

      That wearing on your breast,

      You, unsuspecting, wear me too —

      And angels know the rest.

      I hide myself within my flower,

      That, fading from your vase,

      You, unsuspecting, feel for me

      Almost a loneliness.

VIIIPROOF

      That I did always love,

      I bring thee proof:

      That till I loved

      I did not love enough.

      That I shall love alway,

      I offer thee

      That love is life,

      And life hath immortality.

      This, dost thou doubt, sweet?

      Then have I

      Nothing to show

      But Calvary.

IX

      Have you got a brook in your little heart,

      Where bashful flowers blow,

      And blushing birds go down to drink,

      And shadows tremble so?

      And nobody knows, so still it flows,

      That any brook is there;

      And yet your little draught of life

      Is daily drunken there.

      Then look out for the little brook in March,

      When the rivers overflow,

      And the snows come hurrying from the hills,

      And the bridges often go.

      And later, in August it may be,

      When the meadows parching lie,

      Beware, lest this little brook of life

      Some burning noon go dry!

XTRANSPLANTED

      As if some little Arctic flower,

      Upon the polar hem,

      Went wandering down the latitudes,

      Until it puzzled came

      To continents of summer,

      To firmaments of sun,

      To strange, bright crowds of flowers,

      And birds of foreign tongue!

      I say, as if this little flower

      To Eden wandered in —

      What then? Why, nothing, only,

      Your inference therefrom!

XITHE OUTLET

      My river runs to thee:

      Blue sea, wilt welcome me?

      My river waits reply.

      Oh sea, look graciously!

      I'll fetch thee brooks

      From spotted nooks, —

      Say, sea,

      Take me!

XIIIN VAIN

      I cannot live with you,

      It would be life,

      And life is over there

      Behind the shelf

      The sexton keeps the key to,

      Putting up

      Our life, his porcelain,

      Like a cup

      Discarded of the housewife,

      Quaint or broken;

      A newer Sevres pleases,

      Old ones crack.

      I could not die with you,

      For one must wait

      To shut the other's gaze down,