I have a King, who does not speak —
So — wondering — thro’ the hours meek
I trudge the day away —
Half glad when it is night, and sleep,
If, haply, thro’ a dream, to peep
In parlors, shut by day.
And if I do — when morning comes —
It is as if a hundred drums
Did round my pillow roll,
And shouts fill all my Childish sky,
And Bells keep saying “Victory”
From steeples in my soul!
And if I don’t — the little Bird
Within the Orchard, is not heard,
And I omit to pray
”Father, thy will be done” today
For my will goes the other way,
And it were perjury!
Ho un Re, che non parla —
Così — meravigliata — per le ore miti
Trascino via il giorno —
Mezzo lieta quando è notte, e sonno,
Se, per ventura, in un sogno, sbirciare
In salotti, chiusi di giorno.
E se lo faccio — quando vien mattina —
È come se cento tamburi
Rullassero intorno al mio cuscino,
E grida riempiono tutto il mio cielo Infantile,
E Campane ripetono “Vittoria”
Dai campanili nella mia anima!
E se non lo faccio — il piccolo Uccello
Dentro il Frutteto, non si ode,
E ometto di pregare
”Padre, sia fatta la tua volontà” oggi
Perché la mia volontà va dall’altra parte,
E sarebbe spergiuro!
A Mien to move a Queen —
Half Child — Half Heroine —
An Orleans in the Eye
That puts its manner by
For humbler Company
When none are near
Even a Tear —
Its frequent Visitor —
A Bonnet like a Duke —
And yet a Wren’s Peruke
Were not so shy
Of Goer by —
And Hands — so slight —
They would elate a Sprite
With Merriment —
A Voice that Alters — Low
And on the Ear can go
Like Let of Snow —
Or shift supreme —
As tone of Realm
On Subjects Diadem —
Too small — to fear —
Too distant — to endear —
And so Men Compromise
And just — revere —
Un Contegno da muovere una Regina —
Metà Bimba — Metà Eroina —
Un’Orléans nell’Occhio
Che depone i suoi modi
Per più umile Compagnia
Quando nessuno è vicino
Persino una Lacrima —
Sua frequente Visitatrice —
Una Cuffia come un Duca —
Eppure la Parrucca d’uno Scricciolo
Non sarebbe così schiva
Del Passante —
E Mani — così esili —
Da esaltare un Folletto
Di Allegria —
Una Voce che Muta — Bassa
E sull’Orecchio può posarsi
Come Posa di Neve —
O volgersi suprema —
Come tono di Regno
Su Sudditi Diadema —
Troppo piccola — da temere —
Troppo distante — per farsi cara —
E così gli Uomini Scendono a patti
E soltanto — venerano —
I had the Glory — that will do —
An Honor, Thought can turn her to
When lesser Fames invite —
With one long “Nay” —
Bliss’ early shape
Deforming — Dwindling — Gulfing up —
Time’s possibility.
Ebbi la Gloria — questo basta —
Un Onore, a cui il Pensiero può volgersi
Quando Fame minori invitano —
Con un lungo “No” —
La prima forma della Beatitudine
Deformando — Scemando — Inghiottendo —
La possibilità del Tempo.
The Day that I was crowned
Was like the other Days —
Until the Coronation came —
And then — ‘twas Otherwise —
As Carbon in the Coal
And Carbon in the Gem
Are One — and yet the former
Were dull for Diadem —
I rose, and all was plain —
But when the Day declined
Myself and It, in Majesty
Were equally — adorned —
The Grace that I — was chose —
To Me — surpassed the Crown
That was the Witness for the Grace —
‘Twas even that ‘twas Mine —
Il Giorno in cui fui incoronata
Era come gli altri Giorni —
Finché non venne l’Incoronazione —
E allora — fu Altrimenti —
Come il Carbonio nel Carbone
E il Carbonio nella Gemma
Sono Uno — eppure il primo
Sarebbe spento per un Diadema —
Mi alzai, e tutto era piano —
Ma quando il Giorno declinò
Io ed Esso, in Maestà
Fummo egualmente — adornati —
La Grazia che io — fui scelta —
Per Me — superava la Corona
Che era il Testimone della Grazia —
Fu proprio il fatto che fosse Mia —
I’m saying every day
”If I should be a Queen, tomorrow” —
I’d do this way —
And so I deck, a little,
If it be, I wake a Bourbon,
None on me, bend supercilious —
With “This was she —
Begged in the Market place —
Yesterday.”
Court is a stately place —
I’ve heard men say —
So I loop my apron, against the Majesty
With bright Pins of Buttercup —
That not too plain —
Rank — overtake me —
And perch my Tongue
On Twigs of singing — rather high —
But this, might be my brief Term
To qualify —
Put from my simple speech all plain word —
Take other accents, as such I heard
Though but for the Cricket — just,
And but for the Bee —
Not in all the Meadow —
One accost me —
Better to be ready —
392
Than did next morn
Meet me in Aragon —
My old Gown — on —
And the surprised Air
Rustics — wear —
Summoned — unexpectedly —
To Exeter —
Vado dicendo ogni giorno
”Se fossi una Queen, domani” —
Farei così —
E allora mi adorno, un poco,
Se accade, che mi svegli Borbone,
Nessuno su di me, si chini altezzoso —
Con “Questa era colei —
Che mendicava al Mercato —
Ieri.”
Court è un luogo solenne —
Ho udito dire dagli uomini —
Così drappeggio il grembiule, contro la Maestà
Con lucenti Spille di Ranuncolo —
Perché non troppo dimessa —
Il Rango — mi sorprenda —
E poso la mia Lingua
Su Rami di canto — piuttosto in alto —
Ma questo, potrebbe essere il mio breve Termine
Per qualificarmi —
Tolgo dal mio semplice discorso ogni parola piana —
Prendo altri accenti, quali li udii
Sebbene solo dal Grillo — appena,
E solo dall’Ape —
Non in tutto il Prato —
Uno mi rivolga il saluto —
Meglio esser pronta —
392
Che non il mattino dopo
Incontrarmi in Aragona —
Con la mia vecchia Veste — indosso —
E l’Aria sorpresa
Che i Campagnoli — portano —
Convocati — inaspettatamente —
A Exeter —
Smiling back from Coronation
May be Luxury —
On the Heads that started with us —
Being’s Peasantry —
Recognizing in Procession
Ones We former knew —
When Ourselves were also dusty —
Centuries ago —
Had the Triumph no Conviction
Of how many be —
Stimulated — by the Contrast —
Unto Misery —
Sorridere indietro dall’Incoronazione
Può essere Lusso —
Sulle Teste che partirono con noi —
Plebe dell’Essere —
Riconoscere in Processione
Quelli che un tempo conoscemmo —
Quando Noi stessi eravamo anche polverosi —
Secoli fa —
Se il Trionfo non avesse Convinzione
Di quanti siano —
Spinti — dal Contrasto —
Alla Miseria —
I’ll clutch — and clutch —
Next — One — Might be the golden touch —
Could take it —
Diamonds — Wait —
I’m diving — just a little late —
But stars — go slow — for night —
I’ll string you — in fine Necklace —
Tiaras — make — of some —
Wear you on Hem —
Loop up a Countess — with you —
Make — a Diadem — and mend my old One —
Count — Hoard — then lose —
And doubt that you are mine —
To have the joy of feeling it — again —
I’ll show you at the Court —
Bear you — for Ornament
Where Women breathe —
That every sigh — may lift you
Just as high — as I —
And — when I die —
In meek array — display you —
Still to show — how rich I go —
Lest Skies impeach a wealth so wonderful —
And banish me —
Afferrerò — e afferrerò —
La prossima — Volta — Potrebbe essere il tocco d’oro —
Potrebbe prenderlo —
Diamanti — Aspettate —
Mi tuffo — solo un poco in ritardo —
Ma le stelle — vanno piano — per la notte —
Vi infilerò — in fine Collana —
Tiare — farò — di alcuni —
Vi porterò sull’Orlo —
Allaccerò una Contessa — con voi —
Farò — un Diadema — e rammendo il mio Vecchio —
Conterò — Ammasserò — poi perderò —
E dubiterò che siate miei —
Per avere la gioia di sentirlo — ancora —
Vi mostrerò alla Court —
Vi porterò — come Ornamento
Dove le Donne respirano —
Che ogni sospiro — vi sollevi
Alto — quanto me —
E — quando morirò —
In umile assetto — vi esporrò —
Ancora a mostrare — quanto ricca vado —
Che i Cieli non accusino ricchezza sì mirabile —
E non mi bandiscano —
There is a Shame of Nobleness —
Confronting Sudden Pelf —
A finer Shame of Ecstasy —
Convicted of Itself —
A best Disgrace — a Brave Man feels —
Acknowledged — of the Brave —
One More — “Ye Blessed” — to be told —
But that’s — Behind the Grave —
C’è una Vergogna di Nobiltà —
Di fronte a Ricchezza Improvvisa —
Una più fine Vergogna d’Estasi —
Rea di Se Stessa —
Una suprema Disgrazia — la prova un Uomo Coraggioso —
Riconosciuta — dai Coraggiosi —
Una Ancora — “Voi Benedetti” — da sentirsi dire —
Ma quella è — Oltre la Tomba —
You’ve seen Balloons set — Haven’t You?
So stately they ascend —
It is as Swans — discarded You,
For Duties Diamond —
Their Liquid Feet go softly out
Upon a Sea of Blonde —
They spurn the Air, as t’were too mean
For Creatures so renowned —
Their Ribbons just beyond the eye —
They struggle — some — for Breath —
And yet the Crowd applaud, below —
They would not encore — Death —
The Gilded Creature strains — and spins —
Trips frantic in a Tree —
Tears open her imperial Veins —
And tumbles in the Sea —
The Crowd — retire with an Oath —
The Dust in Streets — go down —
And Clerks in Counting Rooms
Observe — “‘Twas only a Balloon” —
Avete visto Palloni tramontare — Non è vero?
Così maestosi ascendono —
È come se Cigni — Vi avessero scartato,
Per Doveri di Diamante —
I loro Liquidi Piedi escono lievi
Sopra un Mare di Biondo —
Sdegnano l’Aria, come fosse troppo vile
Per Creature così rinomate —
I loro Nastri appena oltre l’occhio —
Lottano — alcuni — per il Respiro —
Eppure la Folla applaude, in basso —
Non chiederebbe il bis — alla Morte —
La Creatura Dorata si tende — e rotea —
Inciampa frenetica in un Albero —
Squarcia le sue Vene imperiali —
E precipita nel Mare —
La Folla — si ritira con un’Imprecazione —
La Polvere nelle Strade — si posa —
E gli Impiegati nelle Stanze dei Conti
Osservano — “Era soltanto un Pallone” —
No matter — now — Sweet —
But when I’m Earl —
Won’t you wish you’d spoken
To that dull Girl?
Trivial a Word — just —
Trivial — a Smile —
But won’t you wish you’d spared one
When I’m Earl?
I shan’t need it — then —
Crests — will do —
Eagles on my Buckles —
On my Belt — too —
Ermine — my familiar Gown —
Say — Sweet — then
Won’t you wish you’d smiled — just —
Me upon?
Non importa — ora — Dolce —
Ma quando sarò Conte —
Non vorrai aver parlato
A quella scialba Fanciulla?
Banale una Parola — appena —
Banale — un Sorriso —
Ma non vorrai averne concesso uno
Quando sarò Conte?
Non ne avrò bisogno — allora —
Basteranno — gli Stemmi —
Aquile sulle mie Fibbie —
Sulla mia Cintura — anche —
Ermellino — la mia Veste familiare —
Di’ — Dolce — allora
Non vorrai aver sorriso — appena —
A me?
Fame of Myself, to justify,
All other Plaudit be
Superfluous — An Incense
Beyond Necessity —
Fame of Myself to lack — Although
My Name be else Supreme —
This were an Honor honorless —
A futile Diadem —
Fama di Me stessa, a giustificare,
Ogni altro Plauso sia
Superfluo — un Incenso
Oltre la Necessità —
Fama di Me stessa mancare — Sebbene
Il mio Nome sia per il resto Supremo —
Questo sarebbe un Onore senza onore —
Un futile Diadema —
Who Court obtain within Himself
Sees every Man a King —
And Poverty of Monarchy
Is an interior thing —
No Man depose
Whom Fate Ordain —
And Who can add a Crown
To Him who doth continual
Conspire against His Own
Chi Corte ottiene dentro di Sé
Vede in ogni Uomo un Re —
E la Povertà di Monarchia
È cosa interiore —
Nessun Uomo depone
Chi il Fato Ordina —
E Chi può aggiungere una Corona
A Colui che di continuo
Cospira contro la Propria
The Clover’s simple Fame
Remembered of the Cow —
Is better than enameled Realms
Of notability.
Renown perceives itself
And that degrades the Flower —
The Daisy that has looked behind
Has compromised its power —
La semplice Fama del Trifoglio
Ricordata dalla Mucca —
Vale più di Regni smaltati
Di notorietà.
La Rinomanza percepisce se stessa
E ciò degrada il Fiore —
La Margherita che si è guardata indietro
Ha compromesso il suo potere —
To earn it by disdaining it
Is Fame’s consummate Fee —
He loves what spurns him —
Look behind — He is pursuing thee.
So let us gather — every Day —
The Aggregate of
Life’s Bouquet
Be Honor and not shame —
Guadagnarla disdegnandola
È della Fama il Compenso supremo —
Ella ama chi la respinge —
Guardati alle spalle — Ella ti insegue.
Raccogliamo dunque — ogni Giorno —
La Somma del
Bouquet della Vita
Sia Onore e non vergogna —
DEAR DR. AND MRS. HOLLAND,—dear Minnie—it is cold to-night, but the thought of you so warm, that I sit by it as a fireside, and am never cold any more. I love to write to you—it gives my heart a holiday and sets the bells to ringing. If prayers had any answers to them, you were all here to-night, but I seek and I don’t find, and knock and it is not opened. Wonder if God is just—presume He is, however, and ‘twas only a blunder of Matthew’s.
I think mine is the case, where when they ask an egg, they get a scorpion, for I keep wishing for you, keep shutting up my eyes and looking toward the sky, asking with all my might for you, and yet you do not come. I wrote to you last week, but thought you would laugh at me, and call me sentimental, so I kept my lofty letter for “Adolphus Hawkins, Esq.”
If it wasn’t for broad daylight, and cooking-stoves, and roosters, I’m afraid you would have occasion to smile at my letters often, but so sure as “this mortal” essays immortality, a crow from a neighboring farm-yard dissipates the illusion, and I am here again.
And what I mean is this—that I thought of you all last week, until the world grew rounder than it sometimes is, and I broke several dishes.
Monday, I solemnly resolved I would be sensible, so I wore thick shoes, and thought of Dr. Humphrey, and the Moral Law. One glimpse of The Republican makes me break things again—I read in it every night.
Who writes those funny accidents, where railroads meet each other unexpectedly, and gentlemen in factories get their heads cut off quite informally? The author, too, relates them in such a sprightly way, that they are quite attractive. Vinnie was disappointed to-night, that there were
LETTER TO DR. AND MRS. HOLLAND, facsimile
not more accidents—I read the news aloud, while Vinnie was sewing. The Republican seems to us like a letter from you, and we break the seal and read it eagerly… .
Vinnie and I talked of you as we sewed, this afternoon. I said—“how far they seem from us,” but Vinnie answered me “only a little way.” … I’d love to be a bird or bee, that whether hum or sing, still might be near you.
Heaven is large—is it not? Life is short too, isn’t it? Then when one is done, is there not another, and—and—then if God is willing, we are neighbors then. Vinnie and mother send their love. Mine too is here. My letter as a bee, goes laden. Please love us and remember us. Please write us very soon, and tell us how you are… .
I have only a buttercup to offer for the centennial, as an “embattled farmer” has but little time.
Begging you not to smile at my limited meadows, I am modestly
DEAR FRIENDS,—Had I not known I was not asleep, I should have feared I dreamed, so blissful was their beauty, but day and they demurred… .
DEAR FRIEND,—We often say “how beautiful!” But when we mean it, we can mean no more.
A dream personified.