Emily Dickinson

If ever the lid gets off my head And lets the brain away The fellow will go where he belonged Without a hint from me

–I’m “wife” – I’ve finished that  –That other state  –I’m Czar – I’m “Woman” now  –It’s safer so 

–I like to see it lap the Miles  –And lick the Valleys up  –And stop to feed itself at Tanks  And then – prodigious step

–I dwell in Possibility  –A fairer House than Prose  –More numerous of Windows  –Superior – for Doors 

,One need not be a chamber to be haunted ;One need not be a house The brain has corridors surpassing .Material place

—My Garden — like the Beach  —Denotes there be — a Sea 

,Pink, small, and punctual ,Aromatic, low ,Covert in April ,Candid in May

,It was not Death, for I stood up –And all the Dead, lie down  It was not Night, for all the Bells .Put out their Tongues, for Noon

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعرة إميلي ديكنسون، وهي قصيدة مدروسة وقصيرة، يتعلق الأمر بمدى ضآلة قدرتنا على التحكم في حياتنا اليومية.

If those I loved were lost —The Crier’s voice would tell me  If those I loved were found —The bells of Ghent would ring 

–After great pain, a formal feeling comes –The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs ’,The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore ?’And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before

–I’ll tell you how the Sun rose –A Ribbon at a time –The Steeples swam in Amethyst –The news, like Squirrels, ran

!Some Rainbow – coming from the Fair –Some Vision of the World Cashmere !I confidently see Or else a Peacock’s purple Train

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

.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

—An awful Tempest mashed the air —The clouds were gaunt, and few A Black—as of a Spectre’s Cloak .Hid Heaven and Earth from view

!Heart, we will forget him !You and I, to-night ,You may forget the warmth he gave .I will forget the light