En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Etienne de la Boéce

I serve you not, if you I follow,
Shadow-like, o'er hill and hollow,
And bend my fancy to your leading,
All too nimble for my treading.
When the pilgrimage is done,
And we've the landscape overrun,
I am bitter, vacant, thwarted,
And your heart is unsupported.
Vainly valiant, you have missed
The manhood that should yours resist,
Its complement; but if I could
In severe or cordial mood
Lead you rightly to my altar,
Where the wisest muses falter,
And worship that world-warning spark
Which dazzles me in midnight dark,
Equalizing small and large,
While the soul it doth surcharge,
That the poor is wealthy grown,
And the hermit never alone,
The traveller and the road seem one
With the errand to be done;—
That were a man's and lover's part,
That were Freedom's whitest chart.

poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
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The Judge is like the Owl

699

The Judge is like the Owl—
I've heard my Father tell—
And Owls do build in Oaks—
So here's an Amber Sill—

That slanted in my Path—
When going to the Barn—
And if it serve You for a House—
Itself is not in vain—

About the price—'tis small—
I only ask a Tune
At Midnight—Let the Owl select
His favorite Refrain.

poem by Emily Dickinson
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The Angle of a Landscape

375

The Angle of a Landscape—
That every time I wake—
Between my Curtain and the Wall
Upon an ample Crack—

Like a Venetian—waiting—
Accosts my open eye—
Is just a Bough of Apples—
Held slanting, in the Sky—

The Pattern of a Chimney—
The Forehead of a Hill—
Sometimes—a Vane's Forefinger—
But that's—Occasional—

The Seasons—shift—my Picture—
Upon my Emerald Bough,
I wake—to find no—Emeralds—
Then—Diamonds&m dash;which the Snow

From Polar Caskets—fetched me—
The Chimney—and the Hill—
And just the Steeple's finger—
These—never stir at all—

poem by Emily Dickinson
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My period had come for Prayer

564

My period had come for Prayer—
No other Art—would do—
My Tactics missed a rudiment—
Creator—Was it you?

God grows above—so those who pray
Horizons—must ascend—
And so I stepped upon the North
To see this Curious Friend—

His House was not—no sign had He—
By Chimney—nor by Door
Could I infer his Residence—
Vast Prairies of Air

Unbroken by a Settler—
Were all that I could see—
Infinitude—Had'st Thou no Face
That I might look on Thee?

The Silence condescended—
Creation stopped—for Me—
But awed beyond my errand—
I worshipped—did not "pray"—

poem by Emily Dickinson
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Three Dark Shadows

Three dark
Shadows lurking
In the dark park
On a dark night
One leads
The two others
Follow wearing
Black raincoats
On a dark road
I lead
I tell them
My name
My work
My place

The two
Did not follow
Since then
They realized
Perhaps that
With what
I tell them
I am blacker
Than black
On a dark
Raincoat
On a dark
Park
On a dark
Road
&
In my dark
Mind
It would
Be so hard
For them
To follow
Through &
Through.

They quit
They split
&
So I
Walk alone
In the dark
As one lonely
Shadow
Darker than
Dark
&
Now
It is you
Here
Following me?
In fact
We change
And it is
You
In effect
Who is
Leading me
Through
These lines
Flowing
Slowly
Gradually
Getting
Darker than
Dark

You have
Indulged &
Surely
You are
Involved
Deeply
Long enough

You win
& lose…

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I took my Power in my Hand

540

I took my Power in my Hand—
And went against the World—
'Twas not so much as David—had—
But I—was twice as bold—

I aimed by Pebble—but Myself
Was all the one that fell—
Was it Goliath—was too large—
Or was myself—too small?

poem by Emily Dickinson
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40

Three dark
Shadows lurking
In the dark park
On a dark night
One leads
The two others
Follow wearing
Black raincoats
On a dark road
I lead
I tell them
My name
My work
My place

The two
Did not follow
Since then
They realized
Perhaps that
With what
I tell them
I am blacker
Than black
On a dark
Raincoat
On a dark
Park
On a dark
Road
&
In my dark
Mind
It would
Be so hard
For them
To follow
Through &
Through.

They quit
They split
&
So I
Walk alone
In the dark
As one lonely
Shadow
Darker than
Dark
&
Now
It is you
Here
Following me?
In fact
We change
And it is
You
In effect
Who is
Leading me
Through
These lines
Flowing
Slowly
Gradually
Gettin g
Darker than
Dark

You have
Indulged &
Surely
You are
Involved
Deeply
Long enough

You win
& lose…

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Alter! When the Hills do

729

Alter! When the Hills do—
Falter! When the Sun
Question if His Glory
Be the Perfect One—

Surfeit! When the Daffodil
Doth of the Dew—
Even as Herself—Sir—
I will—of You—

poem by Emily Dickinson
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I meant to have but modest needs

476

I meant to have but modest needs—
Such as Content—and Heaven—
Within my income—these could lie
And Life and I—keep even—

But since the last—included both—
It would suffice my Prayer
But just for One—to stipulate—
And Grace would grant the Pair—

And so—upon this wise—I prayed—
Great Spirit—Give to me
A Heaven not so large as Yours,
But large enough—for me—

A Smile suffused Jehovah's face—
The Cherubim—withdrew—
Grave Saints stole out to look at me—
And showed their dimples—too—

I left the Place, with all my might—
I threw my Prayer away—
The Quiet Ages picked it up—
And Judgment—twinkled—too—
Tat one so honest—be extant—
It take the Tale for true—
That "Whatsoever Ye shall ask—
Itself be given You"—

But I, grown shrewder—scan the Skies
With a suspicious Air—
As Children—swindled for the first
All Swindlers—be—infer—

poem by Emily Dickinson
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The name—of it—is "Autumn"

656

The name—of it—is "Autumn"—
The hue—of it—is Blood—
An Artery—upon the Hill—
A Vein—along the Road—

Great Globules—in the Alleys—
And Oh, the Shower of Stain—
When Winds—upset the Basin—
And spill the Scarlet Rain—

It sprinkles Bonnets—far below—
It gathers ruddy Pools—
Then—eddies like a Rose—away—
Upon Vermilion Wheels—

poem by Emily Dickinson
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Behind Me—dips Eternity

721

Behind Me—dips Eternity—
Before Me—Immortality—
Myself—the Term between—
Death but the Drift of Eastern Gray,
Dissolving into Dawn away,
Before the West begin—

'Tis Kingdoms—afterward—they say—
In perfect—pauseless Monarchy—
Whose Prince—is Son of None—
Himself—His Dateless Dynasty—
Himself—Himself diversify—
In Duplicate divine—

'Tis Miracle before Me—then—
'Tis Miracle behind—between—
A Crescent in the Sea—
With Midnight to the North of Her—
And Midnight to the South of Her—
And Maelstrom—in the Sky—

poem by Emily Dickinson
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If I may have it, when it's dead

577

If I may have it, when it's dead,
I'll be contented—so—
If just as soon as Breath is out
It shall belong to me—

Until they lock it in the Grave,
'Tis Bliss I cannot weigh—
For tho' they lock Thee in the Grave,
Myself—can own the key—

Think of it Lover! I and Thee
Permitted—face to face to be—
After a Life—a Death—We'll say—
For Death was That—
And this—is Thee—

I'll tell Thee All—how Bald it grew—
How Midnight felt, at first—to me—
How all the Clocks stopped in the World—
And Sunshine pinched me—'Twas so cold—

Then how the Grief got sleepy—some—
As if my Soul were deaf and dumb—
Just making signs—across—to Thee—
That this way—thou could'st notice me—

I'll tell you how I tried to keep
A smile, to show you, when this Deep
All Waded—We look back for Play,
At those Old Times—in Calvary,

Forgive me, if the Grave come slow—
For Coveting to look at Thee—
Forgive me, if to stroke thy frost
Outvisions Paradise!

poem by Emily Dickinson
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Dreams—are well—but Waking's better

450

Dreams—are well—but Waking's better,
If One wake at morn—
If One wake at Midnight—better—
Dreaming—of the Dawn—

Sweeter—the Surmising Robins—
Never gladdened Tree—
Than a Solid Dawn—confronting—
Leading to no Day—

poem by Emily Dickinson
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Wild at Heart - Gloriana

Down a back road,
Long, hot summer,
A couple kids runnin' loose and wild.
He kissed her,
She said mister,
Take an inch and I'll give you a mile.

I ain't here to do anything half-way,
Don't give a dang what anyone might say,
I just wanna free fall for a while.

That rebel moon is shinin',
Those stars burn like diamonds,
Heck bent on chasin' down that crazy spark(slide) .
I'll follow you where you're leading,
To the first sweet taste of freedom,
You got me runnin' baby,
Wild at heart.

About midnight, he tells her,
I ain't got no come-on lines.
Well I love you, or I'll try to,
We got nothing to lose but time.

Stick your hand into my back pocket,
Light me up like a bottle rocket,
I just wanna free fall for a while.

That rebel moon is shinin',
Those stars burn like diamonds,
Heck bent on chasin' down that crazy spark(slide) .
I'll follow you where you're leadin',
To the first sweet taste of freedom,
You got me runnin' baby,
Wild at heart.

O-oh, alright,
Tonight is tellin' us we're way too young.

O-oh, that's alright,
I've got forever on the tip of my tongue.

That rebel moon is shinin',
Those stars burn like diamonds,
Heck bent on chasin' down that crazy spark(slide) .
I'll follow you where you're leading,
To the first sweet taste of freedom,
You got me runnin' baby,
Wild at heart.

That rebel moon is shinin',
Those stars burn like diamonds.
Heck bent on chasin' down that crazy spark(slide) .
I'll follow you where you're leading,
To the first sweet taste of freedom,
You got me runnin' baby,
You got me runnin' baby,
Wild at heart.

O-oh, alright.

poem by Rebecca Ryan
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The Sunrise runs for Both

710

The Sunrise runs for Both—
The East—Her Purple Troth
Keeps with the Hill—
The Noon unwinds Her Blue
Till One Breadth cover Two—
Remotest—still—

Nor does the Night forget
A Lamp for Each—to set—
Wicks wide away—
The North—Her blazing Sign
Erects in Iodine—
Till Both—can see—

The Midnight's Dusky Arms
Clasp Hemispheres, and Homes
And so
Upon Her Bosom—One—
And One upon Her Hem—
Both lie—

poem by Emily Dickinson
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The World—stands—solemner—to me

493

The World—stands—solemner—to me—
Since I was wed—to Him—
A modesty befits the soul
That bears another's—name—
A doubt—if it be fair—indeed—
To wear that perfect—pearl—
The Man—upon the Woman—binds—
To clasp her soul—for all—
A prayer, that it more angel—prove—
A whiter Gift—within—
To that munificence, that chose—
So unadorned—a Queen—
A Gratitude—that such be true—
It had esteemed the Dream—
Too beautiful—for Shape to prove—
Or posture—to redeem!

poem by Emily Dickinson
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A poor—torn heart—a tattered heart

78

A poor—torn heart—a tattered heart—
That sat it down to rest—
Nor noticed that the Ebbing Day
Flowed silver to the West—
Nor noticed Night did soft descend—
Nor Constellation burn—
Intent upon the vision
Of latitudes unknown.

The angels—happening that way
This dusty heart espied—
Tenderly took it up from toil
And carried it to God—
There—sandals for the Barefoot—
There—gathered from the gales—
Do the blue havens by the hand
Lead the wandering Sails.

poem by Emily Dickinson
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There is a Languor of the Life

396

There is a Languor of the Life
More imminent than Pain—
'Tis Pain's Successor—When the Soul
Has suffered all it can—

A Drowsiness—diffuses—
A Dimness like a Fog
Envelops Consciousness—
As Mists—obliterate a Crag.

The Surgeon—does not blanch—at pain
His Habit—is severe—
But tell him that it ceased to feel—
The Creature lying there—

And he will tell you—skill is late—
A Mightier than He—
Has ministered before Him—
There's no Vitality.

poem by Emily Dickinson
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One Life of so much Consequence!

270

One Life of so much Consequence!
Yet I—for it—would pay—
My Soul's entire income—
In ceaseless—salary—

One Pearl—to me—so signal—
That I would instant dive—
Although—I knew—to take it—
Would cost me—just a life!

The Sea is full—I know it!
That—does not blur my Gem!
It burns—distinct from all the row—
Intact—in Diadem!

The life is thick—I know it!
Yet—not so dense a crowd—
But Monarchs—are perceptible—
Far down the dustiest Road!

poem by Emily Dickinson
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No Man can compass a Despair

477

No Man can compass a Despair—
As round a Goalless Road
No faster than a Mile at once
The Traveller proceed—

Unconscious of the Width—
Unconscious that the Sun
Be setting on His progress—
So accurate the One

At estimating Pain—
Whose own—has just begun—
His ignorance—the Angel
That pilot Him along—

poem by Emily Dickinson
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Before I got my eye put out

327

Before I got my eye put out
I liked as well to see—
As other Creatures, that have Eyes
And know no other way—

But were it told to me—Today—
That I might have the sky
For mine—I tell you that my Heart
Would split, for size of me—

The Meadows—mine—
The Mountains—mine—
All Forests—Stintless Stars—
As much of Noon as I could take
Between my finite eyes—

The Motions of the Dipping Birds—
The Morning's Amber Road—
For mine—to look at when I liked—
The News would strike me dead—

So safer—guess—with just my soul
Upon the Window pane—
Where other Creatures put their eyes—
Incautious—of the Sun—

poem by Emily Dickinson
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