Of Consciousness, Her Awful Mate, por Emily Dickinson

Of Consciousness, Her Awful Mate

894

Of Consciousness, her awful Mate

The Soul cannot be rid—

As easy the secreting her

Behind the Eyes of God.

The deepest hid is sighted first

And scant to Him the Crowd—

What triple Lenses burn upon

The Escapade from God—

428 Taking up the fair Ideal, Just to cast her down When a fracture—we discover— Or a splintered Crown—

The Butterfly upon the Sky, That doesn’t know its Name And hasn’t any tax to pay And hasn’t any Home Is just as high as you and I,

786 Severer Service of myself I—hastened to demand To fill the awful Vacuum Your life had left behind—

734 If He were living—dare I ask— And how if He be dead— And so around the Words I went— Of meeting them—afraid—

587 Empty my Heart, of Thee— Its single Artery— Begin, and leave Thee out— Simply Extinction’s Date—

I noticed People disappeared When but a little child - Supposed they visited remote Or settled Regions wild - But did because they died

182 If I shouldn’t be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.

823 Not that We did, shall be the tes… When Act and Will are done But what Our Lord infers We woul… Had We diviner been—

424 Removed from Accident of Loss By Accident of Gain Befalling not my simple Days— Myself had just to earn—

If all the griefs I am to have Would only come today, I am so happy I believe They’d laugh and run away. If all the joys I am to have

Of all the souls that stand create I have elected one. When sense from spirit files away, And subterfuge is done; When that which is and that which…

I bet with every Wind that blew Till Nature in chagrin Employed a Fact to visit me And scuttle my Balloon -

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

722 Sweet Mountains—Ye tell me no lie… Never deny Me—Never fly— Those same unvarying Eyes Turn on Me—when I fail—or feign,

LXXXIX A WORD is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just