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Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

Put Up my Lute!

261
 
Put up my lute!
What of—my Music!
Since the sole ear I cared to charm—
Passive—as Granite—laps My Music—
Sobbing—will suit—as well as psalm!
 
Would but the “Memnon” of the Desert—
Teach me the strain
That vanquished Him—
When He—surrendered to the Sunrise—
Maybe—that—would awaken—them!

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1
Piaciuto o affrontato da...
Bruno G.
Altre opere di Emily Dickinson...
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—
 2
A Clock Stopped—Not the Mantel’s

A clock stopped—not the mantel’s Geneva’s farthest skill Can’t put the puppet bowing That just now dangled still. An awe came on the trinket!
The Sunset Stopped on Cottages

950 The Sunset stopped on Cottages Where Sunset hence must be For treason not of His, but Life’… Gone Westerly, Today—
 1
The Trees like Tassels—hit—and swung—

606 The Trees like Tassels—hit—and sw… There seemed to rise a Tune From Miniature Creatures Accompanying the Sun—
It Did Not Surprise Me

39 It did not surprise me— So I said—or thought— She will stir her pinions And the nest forgot,
Nature and God—I neither knew

835 Nature and God—I neither knew Yet Both so well knew me They startled, like Executors Of My identity.
In Rags Mysterious as These

117 In rags mysterious as these The shining Courtiers go— Veiling the purple, and the plumes… Veiling the ermine so.
My first well Day—since many ill—

574 My first well Day — since many il… I asked to go abroad, And take the Sunshine in my hands… And see the things in Pod —
The Birds Begun at Four O’Clock

783 The Birds begun at Four o’clock— Their period for Dawn— A Music numerous as space— But neighboring as Noon—
 2
These Are the Days When Birds Come Back

130 These are the days when Birds com… A very few—a Bird or two— To take a backward look. These are the days when skies resu…
 1
To Venerate the Simple Days

57 To venerate the simple days Which lead the seasons by, Needs but to remember That from you or I,
An autopsy, by Enrique Simonet Lombardo
Surgeons Must Be Very Careful

108 Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the Culprit—Life!
 2
The Feet of People Walking Home

7 The feet of people walking home With gayer sandals go— The Crocus—til she rises The Vassal of the snow—
 1
He Fumbles at Your Spirit

He fumbles at your spirit As players at the keys Before they drop full music on; He stuns you by degrees, Prepares your brittle substance
 2
I Have a Bird in Spring

5 I have a Bird in spring Which for myself doth sing— The spring decoys. And as the summer nears—



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