Читать книгу An irgendeinem Sommermorgen. Poems/Gedichte - Эмили Дикинсон - Страница 57

If you were coming in the Fall,

I’d brush the Summer by

With half a smile, and half a spurn,

As Housewives do, a Fly.

If I could see you in a year,

I’d wind the months in balls –

And put them each in separate Drawers,

For fear the numbers fuse –

If only Centuries, delayed,

I’d count them on my Hand,

Subtracting, till my fingers dropped

Into Van Dieman’s Land.

If certain, when this life was out –

That your’s and mine, should be –

I’d toss it yonder, like a Rind,

And take Eternity –

But, now, uncertain of the length

Of this, that is between,

It goads me, like the Goblin Bee –

That will not state – it’s sting.

ca. 1862