large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb_10
large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb
English
7245
XXVIII. I know a place where summer strives With such a practised frost, She each year leads her daisies back, Recording briefly, "Lost." But when the south wind stirs the pools And struggles in the lanes, Her heart misgives her for her vow, And she pours soft refrains Into the lap of adamant, And spices, and the dew, That stiffens quietly to quartz, Upon her amber shoe. TWENTY EIGHT I KNOW A PLACE WHERE SUMMER STRIVES WITH SUCH A PRACTISED FROST SHE EACH YEAR LEADS HER DAISIES BACK RECORDING BRIEFLY LOST BUT WHEN THE SOUTH WIND STIRS THE POOLS AND STRUGGLES IN THE LANES HER HEART MISGIVES HER FOR HER VOW AND SHE POURS SOFT REFRAINS INTO THE LAP OF ADAMANT AND SPICES AND THE DEW THAT STIFFENS QUIETLY TO QUARTZ UPON HER AMBER SHOE
a tare. 'T is vegetation's juggler, The germ of alibi; Doth like a bubble antedate, And like a bubble hie. I feel as if the grass were pleased To have it intermit; The surreptitious scion Of summer's circumspect. Had nature any outcast face, Could she a son contemn, Had nature an Iscariot, That mushroom, -- it is him. XXVI. THE STORM. There came a wind like a bugle; It quivered through the grass, And a green chill upon the heat So ominous did pass We barred the windows and the doors As from an emerald ghost; The doom's electric moccason That very instant passed. On a strange mob of panting trees, And fences fled away, And rivers where the houses ran The living looked that day. The bell within the steeple wild The flying tidings whirled. How much can come And much can go, And yet abide the world! XXVII. THE SPIDER. A spider sewed at night Without a light Upon an arc of white. If ruff it was of dame Or shroud of gnome, Himself, himself inform. Of immortality His strategy Was physiognomy. NAKE'S DELAY AND FLEETER THAN A TEAR TIS VEGETATION'S JUGGLER THE GERM OF ALIBI DOTH LIKE A BUBBLE ANTEDATE AND LIKE A BUBBLE HIGH I FEEL AS IF THE GRASS WERE PLEASED TO HAVE IT INTERMIT THE SURREPTITIOUS SCION OF SUMMER'S CIRCUMSPECT HAD NATURE ANY OUTCAST FACE COULD SHE A SON CONTEMN HAD NATURE AN ASCARIOT THAT MUSHROOM IT IS HIM TWENTY SIX THE STORM THERE CAME A WIND LIKE A BUGLE IT QUIVERED THROUGH THE GRASS AND A GREEN CHILL UPON THE HEAT SO OMINOUS DID PASS WE BARRED THE WINDOWS AND THE DOORS AS FROM AN EMERALD GHOST THE DOOM'S ELECTRIC MOCCASIN THAT VERY INSTANT PAST ON A STRANGE MOB OF PANTING TREES AND FENCES FLED AWAY AND RIVERS WHERE THE HOUSES RAN THE LIVING LOOK'D THAT DAY THE BELL WITHIN THE STEEPLE WILD THE FLYING TIDINGS WHIRLED HOW MUCH CAN COME AND MUCH CAN GO AND YET ABIDE THE WORLD TWENTY SEVEN THE SPIDER A SPIDER SEWED AT NIGHT WITHOUT A LIGHT UPON AN ARC OF WHITE IF ROUGH IT WAS OF DAME OR SHROUD OF GNOME HIMSELF IN FORM OF IMMORTALITY HIS STRATEGY WAS PHYSIOGNOMY
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