Emily Dickinson - An irgendeinem Sommermorgen. Poems/Gedichte

And the odd Flambeau, no men carry

Glimmer on the Street –

How it is Night – in Nest and Kennel –

And where was the Wood –

Just a Dome of Abyss is Bowing

Into Solitude –

These are the Visions flitted Guido –

Titian – never told –

Domenichino dropped his pencil –

Paralyzed, with Gold –

ca. 1861

The Soul selects her own Society –

Then – shuts the Door –

To her divine Majority –

Present no more –

Unmoved – she notes the Chariots – pausing –

At her low Gate –

Unmoved – an Emperor be kneeling

Upon her Mat –

I’ve known her – from an ample nation –

Choose One –

Then – close the Valves of her attention

Like Stone –

ca. 1862

He fumbles at your Soul

As Players at the Keys

Before they drop full Music on –

He stuns you by degrees –

Prepares your brittle Nature

For the Etherial Blow

By fainter Hammers – further heard –

Then nearer – Then so slow

Your Breath has time to straighten –

Your Brain – to bubble Cool –

Deals – One – imperial – Thunderbolt –

That scalps your naked Soul –

When Winds take Forests in their Paws –

The Universe – is still –

ca. 1862

The nearest Dream recedes – unrealized –

The Heaven we chase,

Like the June Bee – before the School Boy,

Invites the Race –

Stoops – to an easy Clover –

Dips – evades – teases – deploys –

Then – to the Royal Clouds

Lifts his light Pinnace –

Heedless of the Boy –

Staring – bewildered – at the mocking sky –

Homesick for steadfast Honey –

Ah, the Bee flies not

That brews that rare variety!

ca. 1861

I cannot dance upon my Toes –

No Man instructed me –

But oftentimes, among my mind,

A Glee possesseth me,

That had I Ballet knowledge –

Would put itself abroad

In Pirouette to blanch a Troupe –

Or lay a Prima, mad,

And though I had no Gown of Gauze –

No Ringlet, to my Hair,

Nor hopped for Audiences – like Birds,

One Claw upon the Air,

Nor tossed my shape in Eider Balls,

Nor rolled on wheels of snow

Till I was out of sight, in sound,

The House encore me so –

Nor any know I know the Art

I mention – easy – Here –

Nor any Placard boast me –

It’s full as Opera –

ca. 1862

A Bird came down the Walk –

He did not know I saw –

He bit an Angleworm in halves

And ate the fellow, raw,

And then he drank a Dew

From a convenient Grass –

And then hopped sidewise to the Wall

To let a Beetle pass –

He glanced with rapid eyes

That hurried all around –

They looked like frightened Beads, I thought –

He stirred his Velvet Head

Like one in danger, Cautious,

I offered him a Crumb

And he unrolled his feathers

And rowed him softer home –

Than Oars divide the Ocean,

Too silver for a seam –

Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon

Leap, plashless as they swim.

ca. 1862

The Grass so little has to do –

A Sphere of simple Green –

With only Butterflies to brood

And Bees to entertain –

And stir all day to pretty Tunes

The Breezes fetch along –

And hold the Sunshine in it’s lap

And bow to everything –

And thread the Dews, all night, like Pearls –

And make itself so fine

A Duchess were too common

For such a noticing –

And even when it dies – to pass

In Odors so divine –

Like Lowly spices, lain to sleep –

Or Spikenards, perishing –

And then, in Sovreign Barns to dwell –

And dream the Days away,

The Grass so little has to do –

I wish I were a Hay –

ca. 1862

All the letters I can write

Are not fair as this –

Syllables of Velvet –

Sentences of Plush,

Depths of Ruby, undrained,

Hid, Lip, for Thee –

Play it were a Humming Bird –

And just sipped – me –

1862

I know that He exists.

Somewhere – in Silence –

He has hid his rare life

From our gross eyes.

’Tis an instant’s play.

’Tis a fond Ambush –

Just to make Bliss

Earn her own surprise!

But – should the play

Prove piercing earnest –

Should the glee – glaze –

In Death’s – stiff – stare –

Would not the fun

Look too expensive!

Would not the jest –

Have crawled too far!

1862

Answer July –

Where is the Bee –

Where is the Blush –

Where is the Hay?

Ah, said July –

Where is the Seed –

Where is the Bud –

Where is the May –

Answer Thee – Me –

Nay – said the May –

Show me the Snow –

Show me the Bells –

Show me the Jay!

Quibbled the Jay –

Where be the Maize –

Where be the Haze –

Where be the Bur?

Here – said the Year –

ca. 1862

A Visitor in Marl –

Who influences Flowers –

Till they are orderly as Busts –

And Elegant – as Glass –

Who visits in the Night –

And just before the Sun –

Concludes his glistening interview –

Caresses – and is gone –

But whom his fingers touched –

And where his feet have run –

And whatsoever Mouth he kissed –

Is as it had not been –

ca. 1862

A Charm invests a face

Imperfectly beheld –

The Lady dare not lift her Vail

For fear it be dispelled –

But peers beyond her mesh –

And wishes – and denies –

Lest Interview – annul a want

That Image – satisfies –

ca. 1862

Good Morning – Midnight –

I’m coming Home–

Day – got tired of Me –

How could I – of Him?

Sunshine was a sweet place –

I liked to stay –

But Morn – did’nt want me – now –

So – Goodnight – Day!

I can look – cant I –

When the East is Red?

The Hills – have a way – then –

That puts the Heart – abroad –

You – are not so fair – Midnight –

I chose – Day –

But – please take a little Girl –

He turned away!

ca. 1862

This is my letter to the World

That never wrote to Me –

The simple News that Nature told –

With tender Majesty

Her Message is committed

To Hands I cannot see –

For love of Her – Sweet – countrymen –

Judge tenderly – of Me

1862

He showed me Hights I never saw –

»Would’st Climb« – He said?

I said, »Not so.«

»With me« – He said – »With me?«

He showed me secrets – Morning’s nest –

The Rope the Nights were put across –

»And now, Would’st have me for a Guest?«

I could not find my »Yes« –

And then – He brake His Life – and lo,