艾米莉狄金森（Emily Dickinson）.doc

.Emily Dickinson20(Emily Dickinson)(18301886)- I never saw a moorI never saw a Moor-I never saw the Sea-Yet know I how the Heather looksAnd what a Billow be.I never spoke with GodNor visited in Heaven-Yet certain am I of the spotAs if the Checks were given-BecloudedTHE sky is low, the clouds are mean,A travelling flake of snowAcross a barn or through a rutDebates if it will go.A narrow wind complains all dayHow some one treated him;Nature, like us, is sometimes caughtWithout her diadem.! ? (260)! ?! - !- - !- - !IM Nobody! Who are you?IM Nobody! Who are you?Are you-Nobody-too?Then theres a pair of us!Dont tell! theyd advertise-you know!How dreary-to be-Somebody!How public-like a Frog-To tell your name-the livelong June-To an admiring Bog! Faith is a fine inventionFAITH is a fine inventionWhen Gentlemen can see-But Microsopes are prudentIn an Emergency. ,C!EscapeI NEVER hear the word escapeWithout a quicker blood,A sudden expectation,A flying attitude.I never hear of prisons broadby soldiers battered down,But I tug childish at my bars-Only to fail again! (254) HopeHOPE is the thing with feathersThat perches in the soulAnd sings the tune without the wordsAnd never stops at allAnd sweetest in the gale is heard;And sore must be the stormThat could abash the little birdThat kept so many warm.Ive heard it in the chillest land,And on the strangest Sea;Yet, never, in extremity,It asked a crumb of Me.Emily Dickinson (1861) (536)The heart asks pleasure firstThe heart asks pleasure first,And then, excuse from pain;And then, those little anodynesThat deaden suffering;And then, to go to sleep;And then, if it should beThe will of its Inquisitor,The liberty to die.CompensationFor each ecstatic instantWe must an anguish payIn keen and quivering ratioTo the ecstasy.For each beloved hourSharp pittances of years,Bitter contested farthingsAnd coffers heaped with tears.-The BattlefieldThey dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars,Like petals from a rose,When suddenly across the JuneA wind with fingers goes.They perished in the seamless grass, -No eye could find the place;But God on his repealless listCan summon every face.I had no time to hate, becauseI had no time to hate, becauseThe grave would hinder me,And life was not so sample ICould finish enmity.Nor had I time to love, but sinceSome industry must be,The little toil of love, I thought,Was large enough for me.! ?!My River runs to theeBlue Sea! Wilt welcome me?My River waits replyOh sealook graciouslyIll fetch thee BrooksFrom spotted nooksSaySeaTake me!,!,!,!My friend must be a BirdBecause it flies!Mortal, my friend must be,Because it dies!Barbs has it, like a Bee!Ah, curious friend!Thou puzzlest me!Is Heaven a Physician?Is Heaven a Physician?They say that He can heal -But Medicine PosthumousIs unavailable -Is Heaven an Exchequer?They speak of what we owe -But that negotiationIm not a Party to -A throe upon the features -A hurry in the breath -An ecstasy of partingDenominated Death -An anguish at the mentionWhich when to patience grown,Ive known permission givenTo rejoin its own.The Mystery of PainPain has an element of blank;It cannot recollectWhen it began, or if there wereA day when it was not.It has no future but itself,Its infinite realms containIts past, enlightened to perceiveNew periods of pain.It was too late for Man -But early, yet for God -Creation - impotent to help -But Prayer - remained - Our Side -How excellent the Heaven -When Earth - cannot be had -How hospitable - then - the faceOf our Old Neighbor God -Going to Heaven!I dont know when -Pray do not ask me how!Indeed Im too astonishedTo think of answering you!Going to Heaven!How dim it sounds!And yet it will be doneAs sure as flocks go home at nightUnto the Shepherds arm!Perhaps youre going too!Who knows?If you should get there firstSave just a little space for meClose to the two I lost -The smallest Robe will fit meAnd just a bit of Crown -For you know we do not mind our dressWhen we are going home -Im glad I dont believe itFor it would stop my breath -And Id like to look a little moreAt such a curious Earth!Im glad they did believe itWhom I have never foundSince the mighty Autumn afternoonI left them in the ground.Who is the East?The Yellow ManWho may be Purple if He canThat carries in the Sun.Who is the West?The Purple ManWho may be Yellow if He canThat lets Him out again.Twas such a little - little boatThat toddled down the bay!Twas such a gallant - gallant seaThat beckoned it away!Twas such a greedy - greedy waveThat licked it from the Coast -Nor ever guessed the stately sailsMy little craft was lost!-I keep my pl