There Is an Arid Pleasure, por Emily Dickinson

There Is an Arid Pleasure

782

There is an arid Pleasure—

As different from Joy—

As Frost is different from Dew—

Like element—are they—

Yet one—rejoices Flowers—

And one—the Flowers abhor—

The finest Honey—curdled—

Is worthless—to the Bee—

¿Disfrutate esta lectura? ¡invítanos a un café!.
Tu ayuda nos permite existir.

147 Bless God, he went as soldiers, His musket on his breast— Grant God, he charge the bravest Of all the martial blest!

457 Sweet—safe—Houses—Glad—gay—House… Sealed so stately tight— Lids of Steel—on Lids of Marble— Locking Bare feet out—

934 That is solemn we have ended Be it but a Play Or a Glee among the Garret Or a Holiday

XII I ASKED no other thing, No other was denied. I offered Being for it; The mighty merchant smiled.

518 Her sweet Weight on my Heart a N… Had scarcely deigned to lie— When, stirring, for Belief’s deli… My Bride had slipped away—

24 There is a morn by men unseen— Whose maids upon remoter green Keep their Seraphic May— And all day long, with dance and g…

MINE by the right of the white e… Mine by the royal seal! Mine by the sign in the scarlet pr… Bars cannot conceal! Mine, here in vision and in veto!

58 Delayed till she had ceased to kno… Delayed till in its vest of snow Her loving bosom lay— An hour behind the fleeting breath…

149 She went as quiet as the Dew From an Accustomed flower. Not like the Dew, did she return At the Accustomed hour!

871 The Sun and Moon must make their… The Stars express around For in the Zones of Paradise The Lord alone is burned—

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

522 Had I presumed to hope— The loss had been to Me A Value—for the Greatness’ Sake— As Giants—gone away—

Me prove it now—Whoever doubt Me stop to prove it—now— Make haste—the Scruple! Death be… For Opportunity— The River reaches to my feet—

57 To venerate the simple days Which lead the seasons by, Needs but to remember That from you or I,

XXXII HOPE is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the wor… And never stops at all,