Читать книгу The Complete Poetry of Emily Dickinson - Эмили Дикинсон - Страница 179

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I gained it so,

By climbing slow,

By catching at the twigs that grow

Between the bliss and me.

It hung so high,

As well the sky

Attempt by strategy.

I said I gained it, —

This was all.

Look, how I clutch it,

Lest it fall,

And I a pauper go;

Unfitted by an instant's grace

For the contented beggar's face

I wore an hour ago.