Emily Dickinson: The Lamp burns sure - within - Tho' Serfs - supply
The Lamp burns sure - within -
Tho' Serfs - supply the Oil -
It matters not the busy Wick -
At her phosphoric toil!
The Slave - forgets - to fill -
The Lamp - burns golden - on -
Unconscious that the oil is out -
As that the Slave - is gone.
Emily Dickinson
Pi� citazioni Emily Dickinson
Musicians wrestle everywhere -
All day - among the crowded air
I hear the silver strife -
And - waking - long before the morn -
Such transport breaks upon the town
I think it that "New life"...
No Notice gave She, but a Change -
No Message, but a Sigh -
For Whom, the Time did not suffice
That She should specify.
She was not warm, though Summer shone
Nor scrupulous of cold
Though Rime by Rime...
Within my Garden, rides a Bird
Upon a single Wheel -
Whose spokes a dizzy Music make
As 'twere a travelling Mill -
He never stops, but slackens
Above the Ripest Rose -
Partakes without alighting
And p...