large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb_19
large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb
English
7245
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. 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
 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. 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. INDOWS 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 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
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