It Knew No Medicine, di Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

It Knew No Medicine

559

It knew no Medicine—

It was not Sickness—then—

Nor any need of Surgery—

And therefore—'twas not Pain—

It moved away the Cheeks—

A Dimple at a time—

And left the Profile—plainer—

And in the place of Bloom

It left the little Tint

That never had a Name—

You’ve seen it on a Cast’s face—

Was Paradise—to blame—

If momently ajar—

Temerity—drew near—

And sickened—ever afterward

For Somewhat that it saw?

#Americans #Women #XIXCentury

Ti è piaciuta questa lettura? Offriteci un caffè!.
Il tuo aiuto ci permette di esistere.

Altre opere di Emily Dickinson...

Nature XXIV. a narrow fellow in the grass

XXIV A NARROW fellow in the grass Occasionally rides; You may have met him,—did you not? His notice sudden is.

The Poets Light But Lamps

883 The Poets light but Lamps— Themselves—go out— The Wicks they stimulate— If vital Light

To Flee From Memory

To flee from memory Had we the Wings Many would fly Inured to slower things Birds with surprise

The Angle of a Landscape

375 The Angle of a Landscape— That every time I wake— Between my Curtain and the Wall Upon an ample Crack—

Have You Got a Brook in Your Little Heart

136 Have you got a Brook in your litt… Where bashful flowers blow, And blushing birds go down to drin… And shadows tremble so—

All Overgrown by Cunning Moss

148 All overgrown by cunning moss, All interspersed with weed, The little cage of “Currer Bell” In quiet “Haworth” laid.

The Province of the Saved

539 The Province of the Saved Should be the Art—To save— Through Skill obtained in Themsel… The Science of the Grave

Life XVII. When night is almost done (347)

XVII WHEN night is almost done, And sunrise grows so near That we can touch the spaces, It ’s time to smooth the hair

Of Brussels—it was not—

Of Brussels—it was not— Of Kidderminster? Nay— The Winds did buy it of the Woods… They—sold it unto me It was a gentle price—

I Am Ashamed’i Hide

473 I am ashamed’—I hide’— What right have I’—to be a Bride’… So late a Dowerless Girl’— Nowhere to hide my dazzled Face’—

Life LVIII. Portraits are to daily faces

LVIII PORTRAITS are to daily faces As an evening west To a fine, pedantic sunshine In a satin vest.

A Murmur in the Trees—to note—

416 A Murmur in the Trees—to note— Not loud enough—for Wind— A Star—not far enough to seek— Nor near enough—to find—

I Cautious, Scanned my Little Life

178 I cautious, scanned my little life… I winnowed what would fade From what would last till Heads l… Should be a-dreaming laid.

The Beggar Lad&Mdash;Dies Early

717 The Beggar Lad—dies early— It’s Somewhat in the Cold— And Somewhat in the Trudging feet… And haply, in the World—

Just as He Spoke It From His Hands

848 Just as He spoke it from his Hand… This Edifice remain— A Turret more, a Turret less Dishonor his Design—

Emily Dickinson

It Knew No Medicine

Condividere

Altre opere di Emily Dickinson...