Читать книгу The Complete Poetry of Emily Dickinson - Эмили Дикинсон - Страница 306

Table of Contents

Heaven is what I cannot reach!

The apple on the tree,

Provided it do hopeless hang,

That 'heaven' is, to me.

The color on the cruising cloud,

The interdicted ground

Behind the hill, the house behind, —

There Paradise is found!