large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb_14
large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb
English
7245
XXX. THE WIND'S VISIT. The wind tapped like a tired man, And like a host, "Come in," I boldly answered; entered then My residence within A rapid, footless guest, To offer whom a chair Were as impossible as hand A sofa to the air. THIRTY THE WIND'S VISIT THE WIND TAPPED LIKE A TIRED MAN AND LIKE A HOST COME IN I BOLDLY ANSWERED ENTERED THEN MY RESIDENCE WITHIN A RAPID FOOTLESS GUEST TO OFFER WHOM A CHAIR WERE AS IMPOSSIBLE AS HAND A SOFA TO THE AIR
ving 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. 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. XXIX. The one that could repeat the summer day Were greater than itself, though he Minutest of mankind might be. And who could reproduce the sun, At period of going down -- The lingering and the stain, I mean -- When Orient has been outgrown, And Occident becomes unknown, His name remain. ERE 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 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 TWENTY NINE THE ONE THAT COULD REPEAT THE SUMMER DAY WERE GREATER THAN ITSELF THOUGH HE MINUTEST OF MANKIND MIGHT BE AND WHO COULD REPRODUCE THE SUN AT PERIOD OF GOING DOWN THE LINGERING AND THE STAIN I MEAN WHEN ORIENT HAS BEEN OUTGROWN AND OCCIDENT BECOMES UNKNOWN HIS NAME REMAIN
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