Emily Dickinson poderia estar mais só sem a sua solidão, tão acostumada que estava com o seu destino. E o pior, não estava acostumada com a esperança.

It might be lonelier

It might be lonelier
Without the loneliness
I'm so accustomed to my Fate
Perhaps the Other - Peace

Would interrupt the Dark
And crowd the little Room
Too scant - by Cubits - to contain
The Sacramente - of Him -

I am not used to Hope
It might intrude upon
Its sweet parade - blaspheme the place -
Ordained to Suffering

It might be easier
To fail - with Land in Sight -
Than gain - My Blue Peninsula -
To perish - of Delight -

Emily Dickinson
(1830-1886)

Mais sobre Emily Dickinson em
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emily_Dickinson

Emily Dickinson aprendeu com a vida que pressentimento é apenas uma sombra no gramado.

Presentiment is that long shadow on the lawn

Presentiment is that long shadow on the lawn
Indicative that suns go down;
The notice to the startled grass
That darkness is about to pass.


Emily Dickinson
(1830-1886)

Mais sobre Emily Dickinson em
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emily_Dickinson

Eu sou ninguém! E quem é você? Para Emily Dickinson, como é triste ser alguém.

I'm nobody! Who are you?

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us -don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!


Emily Dickinson
(1830-1886)

Mais sobre Emily Dickinson em
http://pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emily_Dickinson

Ela é considerada uma das maiores poetas da língua inglesa, mas nunca teve um poema publicado em vida. Porque ela não podia esperar pela Morte.

Because I could not stop for Death

Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity –

Emily Dickinson
(1830-1886)

Mais sobre Emily Dickinson em
http://pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emily_Dickinson

Ela perdeu um guinéu dourado na areia e um amigo. E criou uma obra-prima.

I had a guinea golden

I had a guinea golden;
I lost it in the sand,
And though the sum was simple,
And pounds were in the land,
Still had it such a value
Unto my frugal eye,
That when I could not find it
I sat me down to sigh.

I had a crimson robin
Who sang full many a day,
But when the woods were painted
He, too, did fly away.
Time brought me other robins,--
Their ballads were the same,--
Still for my missing troubadour
I kept the "house at hame."

I had a star in heaven;
One Pleiad was its name,
And when I was not heeding
It wandered from the same.
And though the skies are crowded,
And all the night ashine,
I do not care about it,
Since none of them are mine.

My story has a moral:
I have a missing friend,--
Pleiad its name, and robin,
And guinea in the sand,--
And when this mournful ditty,
Accompanied with tear,
Shall meet the eye of traitor
In country far from here,
Grant that repentance solemn
May seize upon his mind,
And he no consolation
Beneath the sun may find.


Emily Dickinson
(1830-1886)

Mais sobre Emily Dickinson em
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emily_Dickinson

Sua vida foi um mistério e sua poesia desconhecida. Mas até hoje é considerada como uma das maiores poetas da língua inglesa.

There's a certain slant of light

There's a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons,
That oppresses, like the weight
Of cathedral tunes.

Heavenly hurt it gives us;
We can find no scar,
But internal difference
Where the meanings are.

None may teach it anything,'
Tis the seal, despair,-
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the air.

When it comes, the landscape listens,
Shadows hold their breath;
When it goes, 't is like the distance
On the look of death.

Emily Dickinson
(1830-1886)

Mais sobre Emily Dickinson em
http://pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emily_Dickinson