large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_4_dickinson_64kb_26
large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_4_dickinson_64kb
English
7245
His conversation seldom, His laughter like the breeze That dies away in dimples Among the pensive trees. Our interview was transient,   Of me, himself was shy; And God forbid I look behind Since that appalling day! HIS CONVERSATION SELDOM HIS LAUGHTER LIKE THE BREEZE THAT DIES AWAY IN DIMPLES AMONG THE PENSIVE TREES OUR INTERVIEW WAS TRANSIENT OF ME HIMSELF WAS SHY AND GOD FORBID I LOOK BEHIND SINCE THAT APPALLING DAY
 -- And there the matter ends. VIII. I have not told my garden yet, Lest that should conquer me; I have not quite the strength now To break it to the bee. I will not name it in the street, For shops would stare, that I, So shy, so very ignorant, Should have the face to die. The hillsides must not know it, Where I have rambled so, Nor tell the loving forests The day that I shall go, Nor lisp it at the table, Nor heedless by the way Hint that within the riddle One will walk to-day! IX. THE BATTLE-FIELD. They dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars, Like petals from a rose, When suddenly across the June A wind with fingers goes. They perished in the seamless grass, -- No eye could find the place; But God on his repealless list Can summon every face. X. The only ghost I ever saw Was dressed in mechlin, -- so; He wore no sandal on his foot, And stepped like flakes of snow. His gait was soundless, like the bird, But rapid, like the roe; His fashions quaint, mosaic, Or, haply, mistletoe. UILLY AS FRIENDS SALUTE AND PASS WITHOUT A HINT AND THERE THE MATTER ENDS EIGHT I HAVE NOT TOLD MY GARDEN YET LEST THAT SHOULD CONQUER ME I HAVE NOT QUITE THE STRENGTH NOW TO BREAK IT TO THE BEE I WILL NOT NAME IT IN THE STREET FOR SHOPS WOULD STARE THAT I SO SHY SO VERY IGNORANT SHOULD HAVE THE FACE TO DIE THE HILLSIDES MUST NOT KNOW IT WHERE I HAVE RAMBLED SO NOR TELL THE LOVING FORESTS THE DAY THAT I SHALL GO NOR LISP IT AT TABLE NOR HEEDLESS BY THE WAY HINT THAT WITHIN THE RIDDLE ONE WILL WALK TO DAY NINE THE BATTLE FIELD THEY DROPPED LIKE FLAKES THEY DROPPED LIKE STARS LIKE PETALS FROM A ROSE WHEN SUDDENLY ACROSS THE JUNE A WIND WITH FINGERS GOES THEY PERISHED IN THE SEAMLESS GRASS NO EYE COULD FIND THE PLACE BUT GOD ON HIS REPEALLESS LIST CAN SUMMON EVERY FACE TEN THE ONLY GHOST I EVER SAW WAS DRESSED IN MECHLIN SO HE WORE NO SANDAL ON HIS FOOT AND STEPPED LIKE FLAKES OF SNOW HIS GAIT WAS SOUNDLESS LIKE THE BIRD BUT RAPID LIKE THE ROE HIS FASHIONS QUAINT MOSAIC OR HAPLY MISTLETOE
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