Читать книгу An irgendeinem Sommermorgen. Poems/Gedichte - Эмили Дикинсон - Страница 42

I know that He exists.

Somewhere – in Silence –

He has hid his rare life

From our gross eyes.

’Tis an instant’s play.

’Tis a fond Ambush –

Just to make Bliss

Earn her own surprise!

But – should the play

Prove piercing earnest –

Should the glee – glaze –

In Death’s – stiff – stare –

Would not the fun

Look too expensive!

Would not the jest –

Have crawled too far!

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