Читать книгу An irgendeinem Sommermorgen. Poems/Gedichte - Эмили Дикинсон - Страница 55

I would not paint – a picture –

I’d rather be the One

It’s bright impossibility

To dwell – delicious – on –

And wonder how the fingers feel

Whose rare – celestial – stir –

Evokes so sweet a Torment –

Such sumptuous – Despair –

I would not talk, like Cornets –

I’d rather be the One

Raised softly to the Ceilings –

And out, and easy on –

Through Villages of Ether –

Myself endued Balloon

By but a lip of Metal –

The pier to my Pontoon –

Nor would I be a Poet –

It’s finer – own the Ear –

Enamored – impotent – content –

The License to revere,

A privilege so awful

What would the Dower be,

Had I the Art to stun myself

With Bolts of Melody!

ca. 1862