Whose Cheek Is This?, par Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

Whose Cheek Is This?

Whose cheek is this?

What rosy face

Has lost a blush today?

I found her—"pleiad"—in the woods

And bore her safe away.

Robins, in the tradition

Did cover such with leaves,

But which the cheek—

And which the pall

My scrutiny deceives.

#Americans #Women #XIXCentury

Vous avez aimé cette lecture ? Offrez-nous un café !.
Votre aide nous permet d'exister.

Préféré par...

Autres oeuvres par Emily Dickinson...

If He were living—dare I ask—

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—

They Leave Us With the Infinite

350 They leave us with the Infinite. But He—is not a man— His fingers are the size of fists— His fists, the size of men—

Life XXV. Belshazzar had a letter (1459)

XXV BELSHAZZAR had a letter,— He never had but one; Belshazzar’s correspondent Concluded and begun

Jesus! Thy Crucifix

225 Jesus! thy Crucifix Enable thee to guess The smaller size! Jesus! thy second face

Trust in the Unexpected

555 Trust in the Unexpected— By this—was William Kidd Persuaded of the Buried Gold— As One had testified—

A Narrow Fellow in the Grass

A narrow fellow in the grass Occasionally rides; You may have met him,—did you not, His notice sudden is. The grass divides as with a comb,

She Hideth Her the Last

557 She hideth Her the last— And is the first, to rise— Her Night doth hardly recompense The Closing of Her eyes—

Witchcraft Was Hung, in History

’Twas such a little—little boat That toddled down the bay! ’Twas such a gallant—gallant sea That beckoned it away! ’Twas such a greedy, greedy wave

I Had No Cause to Be Awake

542 I had no Cause to be awake— My Best—was gone to sleep— And Morn a new politeness took— And failed to wake them up—

Could I—then—shut the door—

220 Could I—then—shut the door— Lest my beseeching face—at last— Rejected—be—of Her?

Denial—is the only fact

965 Denial—is the only fact Perceived by the Denied— Whose Will—a numb significance— The Day the Heaven died—

Nature the Gentlest Mother Is

Nature the gentlest mother is, Impatient of no child, The feeblest of the waywardest. Her admonition mild In forest and the hill

The Doomed—regard the Sunrise

294 The Doomed—regard the Sunrise With different Delight— Because—when next it burns abroad They doubt to witness it—

Reverse Cannot Befall

395 Reverse cannot befall That fine Prosperity Whose Sources are interior— As soon—Adversity

Glory is that bright tragic thing

Glory is that bright tragic thing That for an instant Means Dominion - Warms some poor name That never felt the Sun,

Emily Dickinson