قصائد أجنبية

Publication- is the Auction Of the Mind of Man Poverty- be justifying For so foul a thing

—My life closed twice before its close It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me

–Much Madness is divinest Sense –To a discerning Eye –Much Sense – the starkest Madness

—Going to him! Happy letter! Tell him“ ;Tell him the page I didn’t write ,Tell him I only said the syntax .And left the verb and the pronoun out

—The Wind — tapped like a tired Man ”And like a Host — “Come in I boldly answered — entered then My Residence within

.The Sky is low — the Clouds are mean A Travelling Flake of Snow Across a Barn or through a Rut —Debates if it will go

The past is such a curious creature To look her in the face A transport may reward us Or a disgrace

–It sifts from Leaden Sieves  .It powders all the Wood It fills with Alabaster Wool –The Wrinkles of the Road 

:A bird came down the walk ;He did not know I saw He bit an angle-worm in halves .And ate the fellow, raw

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعرة إميلي ديكنسون، تقدم متحدثة الشاعرة المساعدة بعدة طرق في بعض الحالات لتحسين حياتها.   ملخص قصيدة If I can stop one heart from breaking   يتم تقديم هذا من خلال الأفكار الغامضة والمفاهيم التفسيرية، مع ذلك التي تُظهر اليأس تقريبًا من حيث أنّ ديكنسون مستعدة لتقديم هذه المساعدة بطرق مختلفة، مرة […]

?I’m Nobody! Who are you ?Are you – Nobody – too !Then there’s a pair of us !Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know

Coming home is terrible ;whether the dogs lick your face or not whether you have a wife .or just a wife-shaped loneliness waiting for you

Amid the glare of light and song ,And talk that knows not when to cease ,The sullen voices of the throng ,My weary soul cries out for peace

:A woman’s hands always hold something .A handbag, a vase, a child, a ring, an idea My hands are tired of holding .They simply want to fold themselves

Keep cats if you want to learn to cope with .the otherness of lovers -Otherness is not always neglect 

,Around and beneath, the dull grey mist and the sullen roar of the sea ;Scant footing-place on the sheer cliffs face—with death for a penalty ,But afar and above there is rest and love, there is hope for brain and hand .The valleys fair and the crystal air and the peaks of Morning Land 

,I am from clothespins .from Clorox and carbon-tetrachloride .I am from the dirt under the back porch Black, glistening)

O May I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence: live ,In pulses stirr’d to generosity

.The sky is cloudy, yellowed by the smoke For view there are the houses opposite Cutting the sky with one long line of wall Like solid fog: far as the eye can stretch

If you sit down at set of sun ,And count the acts that you have done And, counting, find One self-denying deed, one word

,The world is great: the birds all fly from me  The stars are golden fruit upon a tree  ,All out of reach: my little sister went  .And I am lonely

,Most near, most dear, most loved and most far Under the window where I often found her ,Sitting as huge as Asia, seismic with laughter ,Gin and chicken helpless in her Irish hand

It was so simple: you came back to me And I was happy. Nothing seemed to matter But that. That you had gone away from me .And lived for days with him—it didn’t matter

,Down the long hall she glistens like a star  ,The foam-born mother of Love, transfixed to stone .Yet none the less immortal, breathing on 

.No one could say how the tiger got into the menagerie ,It was too flash, too blue .too much like the painting of a tiger

.Your Riches — taught me — Poverty Myself — a Millionaire In little Wealths, as Girls could boast —Till broad as Buenos Ayre 

I years had been from Home And now before the Door I dared not enter, lest a Face I never saw before

I measure every Grief I meet –With narrow, probing, eyes  –I wonder if It weighs like Mine  .Or has an Easier size

,I like a look of Agony —Because I know it’s true ,Men do not sham Convulsion —Nor simulate, a Throe

;Hope was but a timid friend ,She sat without the grated den ,Watching how my fate would tend .Even as selfish-hearted men