Snow flakes.
I counted till they danced so
Their slippers leaped the town,
And then I took a pencil
To note the rebels down.
And then they grew so jolly
I did resign the prig,
And ten of my once stately toes
Are marshalled for a jig!
Fiocchi di Snow.
Contai finché danzarono tanto
Che le loro pantofole balzarono per la città,
E allora presi una matita
Per annotare i ribelli.
E allora si fecero così allegri
Che io deposi il pedante,
E dieci mie dita un tempo maestose
Sono schierate per una giga!
The bee is not afraid of me,
I know the butterfly ;
The pretty people in the woods
Receive me cordially.
The brooks laugh louder when I come,
The breezes madder play.
Wherefore, mine eyes, thy silver mists ?
Wherefore, O summer’s day ?
L’ape non ha paura di me,
io conosco la farfalla ;
la gente graziosa dei boschi
mi accoglie cordialmente.
I ruscelli ridono più forte quando arrivo,
le brezze giocano più folli.
Perché, occhi miei, le vostre nebbie d’argento ?
Perché, o giorno d’estate ?
For each ecstatic instant
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ratio
To the ecstasy.
For each beloved hour
Sharp pittances of years —
Bitter contested farthings —
And Coffers heaped with Tears!
Per ogni istante estatico
Un’angoscia dobbiamo pagare
In acuta e tremante proporzione
All’estasi.
Per ogni ora amata
Aspre elemosine di anni —
Amari spiccioli contesi —
E Forzieri colmi di Lacrime!
Pigmy seraphs — gone astray —
Velvet people from Vevay —
Balles from some lost summer day —
Bees exclusive Coterie —
Paris could not lay the fold
Belted down with Emerald —
Venice could not show a check
Of a tint so lustrous meek —
Never such an Ambuscade
As of briar and leaf displayed
For my little damask maid —
I had rather wear her grace
Than an Earl’s distinguished face —
I had rather dwell like her
Than be “Duke of Exeter” —
Royalty enough for me
To subdue the Bumblebee.
Pigmei serafini — smarriti —
Gente di velluto da Vevay —
Belle di qualche perduto giorno d’estate —
Esclusiva Consorteria delle Api —
Parigi non saprebbe disporre la piega
Cinta giù di Smeraldo —
Venezia non saprebbe esibire una stoffa
Di tinta così lucente e mite —
Mai una tale Imboscata
Quale di rovo e foglia schierata
Per la mia piccola damigella di damasco —
Preferirei indossare la sua grazia
Che il volto distinto di un Conte —
Preferirei dimorare come lei
Che essere “Duca di Exeter” —
Regalità che a me basta
Il soggiogare il Bombo.
To learn the Transport by the Pain
As Blind Men learn the sun!
To die of thirst — suspecting
That Brooks in Meadows run!
To stay the homesick — homesick feet
Upon a foreign shore —
Haunted by native lands, the while —
And blue — beloved air!
This is the Sovereign Anguish!
This — the signal woe!
These are the patient “Laureates”
Whose voices — trained — below —
Ascend in ceaseless Carol —
Inaudible, indeed,
To us — the duller scholars
Of the Mysterious Bard!
Apprendere il Trasporto dalla Pena
Come i Ciechi apprendono il sole!
Morir di sete — sospettando
Che Ruscelli corrono nei Prati!
Fermare i piedi nostalgici — nostalgici
Su una riva straniera —
Ossessionati da terre natie, intanto —
E dall’azzurra — amata aria!
Questa è l’Angoscia Sovrana!
Questo — il dolore supremo!
Questi sono i pazienti “Laureati”
Le cui voci — esercitate — quaggiù —
Salgono in Canto incessante —
Inudibile, invero,
A noi — gli scolari più ottusi
Del Misterioso Bardo!
A transport one cannot contain
May yet a transport be —
Though God forbid it lift the lid —
Unto its Ecstasy!
A Diagram — of Rapture!
A sixpence at a Show —
With Holy Ghosts in Cages!
The Universe would go!
Un trasporto che non si può contenere
Può pur essere un trasporto —
Benché Dio vieti che sollevi il coperchio —
Verso la sua Estasi!
Un Diagramma — di Rapimento!
Sei soldi a uno Spettacolo —
Con Santi Spiriti in Gabbie!
L’Universo accorrerebbe!
Poor little Heart!
Did they forget thee?
Then dinna care! Then dinna care!
Proud little Heart!
Did they forsake thee?
Be debonnaire! Be debonnaire!
Frail little Heart!
I would not break thee —
Could’st credit me? Could’st credit me?
Gay little Heart —
Like Morning Glory!
Wind and Sun — wilt thee array!
Povero piccolo Cuore!
Ti hanno dimenticato?
Non ti curar! Non ti curar!
Fiero piccolo Cuore!
Ti hanno abbandonato?
Sii debonario! Sii debonario!
Fragile piccolo Cuore!
Io non ti spezzerei —
Potresti credermi? Potresti credermi?
Gaio piccolo Cuore —
Come Gloria del Mattino!
Vento e Sole — ti adorneranno!
I TASTE a liquor never brewed,
From tankards scooped in pearl;
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an alcohol!
Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew,
Reeling, through endless summer days,
From inns of molten blue.
When landlords turn the drunken bee
Out of the foxglove’s door,
When butterflies renounce their drams,
I shall but drink the more!
Till seraphs swing their snowy hats,
And saints to windows run,
To see the little tippler
Leaning against the sun!
ASSAPORO un liquore mai distillato,
Da boccali scavati nella perla;
Non tutti i tini lungo il Reno
Dànno un simile alcole!
Ebbra d’aria io sono,
E dissoluta di rugiada,
Barcollando, per sconfinati giorni d’estate,
Da taverne di azzurro fuso.
Quando gli osti cacceranno l’ape ubriaca
Dalla porta della digitale,
Quando le farfalle rinunceranno ai loro sorsi,
Io non farò che bere di più!
Finché i serafini agiteranno i loro cappelli di neve,
E i santi correranno alle finestre,
A vedere la piccola beona
Appoggiata contro il sole!
We — Bee and I — live by the quaffing —
‘Tisn’t all Hock — with us —
Life has its Ale —
But it’s many a lay of the Dim Burgundy —
We chant — for cheer — when the Wines — fail —
Do we “get drunk”?
Ask the jolly Clovers!
Do we “beat” our “Wife”?
I — never wed —
Bee — pledges his — in minute flagons —
Dainty — as the trees — on our deft Head —
While runs the Rhine —
He and I — revel —
First — at the vat — and latest at the Vine —
Noon — our last Cup —
“Found dead” — “of Nectar” —
By a humming Coroner —
In a By-Thyme!
Noi — Ape ed io — viviamo di bevute —
Non è tutto Vin del Reno — da noi —
La Vita ha la sua Birra —
Ma è più d’un canto del Fosco Borgogna —
Che intoniamo — per conforto — quando i Vini — mancano —
Ci “ubriachiamo”?
Chiedetelo agli allegri Trifogli!
”Picchiamo” la nostra “Moglie”?
Io — mai sposata —
Ape — brinda alla sua — in minuscole caraffe —
Leggiadre — come gli alberi — sul nostro agile Capo —
Finché scorre il Reno —
Lui ed io — gozzovigliamo —
Primi — al tino — e ultimi alla Vite —
Mezzogiorno — la nostra ultima Coppa —
“Trovati morti” — “di Nettare” —
Da un ronzante Coroner —
In un Cespo di Timo!
So glad we are — a Stranger’d deem
’Twas sorry, that we were —
For where the Holiday should be
There publishes a Tear —
Nor how Ourselves be justified —
Since Grief and Joy are done
So similar — An Optizan
Could not decide between —
Così lieti siamo — un Estraneo direbbe
Che tristi, fossimo —
Ché dove la Festa dovrebbe essere
Lì si pubblica una Lacrima —
Né come Noi stessi giustificarci —
Poiché Dolore e Gioia son fatti
Così simili — che un Ottico
Non saprebbe scegliere fra loro —
Is Bliss then, such Abyss,
I must not put my foot amiss
For fear I spoil my shoe?
I’d rather suit my foot
Than save my Boot —
For yet to buy another Pair
Is possible,
At any store —
But Bliss, is sold just once.
The Patent lost
None buy it any more —
Say, Foot, decide the point —
The Lady cross, or not?
Verdict for Boot!
È dunque la Beatitudine, tale Abisso,
Che non devo mettere il piede in fallo
Per timore di rovinarmi la scarpa?
Preferirei assecondare il piede
Che salvare lo Stivale —
Perché comprarne un altro Paio
È possibile,
In qualunque bottega —
Ma la Beatitudine, si vende una volta sola.
Perduto il Brevetto
Nessuno più la compra —
Di’, Piede, decidi tu il punto —
La Signora attraversa, o no?
Verdetto per lo Stivale!
From Cocoon forth a Butterfly
As Lady from her Door
Emerged — a Summer Afternoon —
Repairing Everywhere —
Without Design — that I could trace
Except to stray abroad
On Miscellaneous Enterprise
The Clovers — understood —
Her pretty Parasol be seen
Contracting in a Field
Where Men made Hay —
Then struggling hard
With an opposing Cloud —
Where Parties — Phantom as Herself —
To Nowhere — seemed to go
In purposeless Circumference —
As ‘twere a Tropic Show —
And notwithstanding Bee — that worked —
And Flower — that zealous blew —
This Audience of Idleness
Disdained them, from the Sky —
Till Sundown crept — a steady Tide —
And Men that made the Hay —
And Afternoon — and Butterfly —
Extinguished — in the Sea —
Dal Bozzolo fuori una Farfalla
Come Dama dalla sua Porta
Emerse — un Pomeriggio d’Estate —
Recandosi Ovunque —
Senza Disegno — che io potessi scorgere
Se non vagare qua e là
In Miscellanea Impresa
Che i Trifogli — capivano —
Il suo grazioso Parasole si vide
Contrarsi in un Campo
Dove gli Uomini facevano il Fieno —
Poi lottare a fatica
Con una Nuvola avversa —
Dove Comitive — Fantasma come Lei —
Verso il Nulla — parevano andare
In Circonferenza senza scopo —
Come fosse uno Spettacolo dei Tropici —
E nonostante l’Ape — che lavorava —
E il Fiore — che zelante sbocciava —
Questo Pubblico d’Ozio
Li disdegnava, dal Cielo —
Finché il Tramonto strisciò — Marea costante —
E gli Uomini che facevano il Fieno —
E il Pomeriggio — e la Farfalla —
Si estinsero — nel Mare —
Exhilaration — is within —
There can no Outer Wine
So royally intoxicate
As that diviner Brand
The Soul achieves — Herself —
To drink — or set away
For Visitor — Or Sacrament —
‘Tis not of Holiday
To stimulate a Man
Who hath the Ample Rhine
Within his Closet — Best you can
Exhale in offering.
L’Esaltazione — è dentro —
Nessun Vino Esteriore può
Così regalmente inebriare
Come quella Marca più divina
Che l’Anima consegue — da Sé —
Da bere — o riporre
Per il Visitatore — O il Sacramento —
Non è cosa di Festa
Stimolare un Uomo
Che possiede l’Ampio Reno
Dentro il suo Stanzino — il Meglio che puoi
È esalare in offerta.
Did Our Best Moment last —
‘Twould supersede the Heaven —
A few — and they by Risk — procure —
So this Sort — are not given —
Except as stimulants — in
Cases of Despair —
Or Stupor — The Reserve —
These Heavenly Moments are —
A Grant of the Divine —
That Certain as it Comes —
Withdraws — and leaves the dazzled Soul
In her unfurnished Rooms
Se durasse il Nostro Momento Migliore —
Soppianterebbe il Cielo —
Pochi — e quelli a Rischio — se ne procurano —
Così questa Specie — non viene concessa —
Se non come stimolanti — nei
Casi di Disperazione —
O di Stupore — La Riserva —
Questi Momenti Celesti sono —
Un Dono del Divino —
Che Certo come Viene —
Si ritira — e lascia l’Anima abbagliata
Nelle sue Stanze non arredate
She sights a Bird — she chuckles —
She flattens — then she crawls —
She runs without the look of feet —
Her eyes increase to Balls —
Her Jaws stir — twitching — hungry —
Her Teeth can hardly stand —
She leaps, but Robin leaped the first —
Ah, Pussy, of the Sand,
The Hopes so juicy ripening —
You almost bathed your Tongue —
When Bliss disclosed a hundred Toes —
And fled with every one —
Avvista un Uccello — ridacchia —
Si appiattisce — poi striscia —
Corre senza parvenza di zampe —
I suoi occhi si dilatano in Globi —
Le sue Mascelle fremono — contratte — affamate —
I suoi Denti quasi non resistono —
Balza, ma il Pettirosso balzò per primo —
Ah, Micia, della Sabbia,
Le Speranze che maturavano sì succose —
Quasi vi bagnasti la Lingua —
Quando la Beatitudine svelò cento Dita —
E fuggì con ognuna —
Two butterflies went out at Noon —
And waltzed upon a Farm —
Then stepped straight through the Firmament
And rested, on a Beam —
And then — together bore away
Upon a shining Sea —
Though never yet, in any Port —
Their coming, mentioned — be —
If spoken by the distant Bird —
If met in Ether Sea
By Frigate, or by Merchantman —
No notice — was — to me —
Due farfalle uscirono a Mezzogiorno —
E danzarono il valzer su una Fattoria —
Poi passarono dritte oltre il Firmamento
E riposarono, su un Raggio —
E poi — insieme presero il largo
Sopra un Mare splendente —
Benché mai, in alcun Porto —
Il loro arrivo, menzionato — sia —
Se dette dall’Uccello distante —
Se incontrate nell’Etereo Mare
Da Fregata, o da Mercantile —
Nessuna notizia — giunse — a me —
Could I but ride indefinite
As doth the Meadow Bee
And visit only where I liked
And No one visit me
And flirt all Day with Buttercups
And marry whom I may
And dwell a little everywhere
Or better, run away
With no Police to follow
Or chase Him if He do
Till He should jump Peninsulas
To get away from me —
I said “But just to be a Bee”
Upon a Raft of Air
And row in Nowhere all Day long
And anchor “off the Bar”
What Liberty! So Captives deem
Who tight in Dungeons are.
Potessi solo vagare indefinita
Come fa l’Ape del Prato
E visitare solo dove mi piacesse
E Nessuno visitare me
E flirtare tutto il Giorno coi Ranuncoli
E sposare chi mi pare
E dimorare un poco ovunque
O meglio, fuggire via
Senza Polizia che m’insegua
O inseguirLo se Lui lo fa
Finché non salti Penisole
Per fuggire via da me —
Dissi “Ma solo essere un’Ape”
Su una Zattera d’Aria
E remare nel Nulla tutto il Giorno
E ancorare “al largo della Barra”
Che Libertà! Così pensano i Prigionieri
Che stretti stanno in Segrete.
Would you like summer? Taste of ours.
Spices? Buy here!
Ill! We have berries, for the parching!
Weary! Furloughs of down!
Perplexed! Estates of violet trouble ne’er looked on!
Captive! We bring reprieve of roses!
Fainting! Flasks of air!
Even for Death, a fairy medicine.
But, which is it, sir?
Vorreste l’estate? Assaggiate la nostra.
Spezie? Comprate qui!
Malato! Abbiamo bacche, per l’arsura!
Stanco! Licenze di piume!
Perplesso! Tenute di violaceo affanno mai contemplate!
Prigioniero! Portiamo tregua di rose!
Svenuto! Fiasche d’aria!
Persino per la Morte, una medicina di fata.
Ma, qual è, signore?
One Blessing had I than the rest
So larger to my Eyes
That I stopped gauging — satisfied —
For this enchanted size —
It was the limit of my Dream —
The focus of my Prayer —
A perfect — paralyzing Bliss —
Contented as Despair —
I knew no more of Want — or Cold —
Phantasms both become
For this new Value in the Soul —
Supremest Earthly Sum —
The Heaven below the Heaven above —
Obscured with ruddier Blue —
Life’s Latitudes leant over — full —
The Judgment perished — too —
Why Bliss so scantily disburse —
Why Paradise defer —
Why Floods be served to Us — in Bowls —
I speculate no more —
Una Benedizione ebbi io più delle altre
Così più grande ai miei Occhi
Che smisi di misurare — soddisfatta —
Per questa incantata grandezza —
Era il limite del mio Sogno —
Il fuoco della mia Preghiera —
Una perfetta — paralizzante Beatitudine —
Appagata come Disperazione —
Non seppi più di Bisogno — o Freddo —
Fantasmi divengono entrambi
Per questo nuovo Valore nell’Anima —
Suprema Somma Terrena —
Il Cielo di sotto il Cielo di sopra —
Oscurato d’un più acceso Azzurro —
Le Latitudini della Vita si chinarono — colme —
Il Giudizio perì — anch’esso —
Perché Beatitudine così scarsamente elargire —
Perché il Paradiso differire —
Perché Diluvi ci siano serviti — in Ciotole —
Io non speculo più —
It is a lonesome Glee —
Yet sanctifies the Mind —
With fair association —
Afar upon the Wind
A Bird to overhear
Delight without a Cause —
Arrestless as invisible —
A matter of the Skies.
È una Gioia solitaria —
Eppure santifica la Mente —
Con bella associazione —
Lontano sopra il Vento
Un Uccello udito per caso
Diletto senza una Causa —
Incoercibile quanto invisibile —
Cosa che è dei Cieli.
There is an arid Pleasure —
As different from Joy —
As Frost is different from Dew —
Like element — are they —
Yet one — rejoices Flowers —
And one — the Flowers abhor —
The finest Honey — curdled —
Is worthless — to the Bee —
C’è un arido Piacere —
Tanto diverso dalla Gioia —
Quanto il Gelo è diverso dalla Rugiada —
Di eguale elemento — essi sono —
Eppure uno — rallegra i Fiori —
E uno — i Fiori lo aborrono —
Il Miele più fine — cagliato —
È senza valore — per l’Ape —
Such is the Force of Happiness —
The Least — can lift a Ton
Assisted by its stimulus —
Who Misery — sustain —
No Sinew can afford —
The Cargo of Themselves —
Too infinite for Consciousness’
Slow capabilities.
Tale è la Forza della Felicità —
Il Minimo — può sollevare una Tonnellata
Assistito dal suo stimolo —
Chi la Miseria — sostiene —
Nessun Tendine può reggere —
Il Carico di Se Stessi —
Troppo infinito per le lente
Capacità della Coscienza.
Always Mine!
No more Vacation!
Term of Light this Day begun!
Failless as the fair rotation
Of the Seasons and the Sun.
Old the Grace, but new the Subjects —
Old, indeed, the East,
Yet upon His Purple Programme
Every Dawn, is first.
Sempre Mio!
Mai più Vacanza!
Termine di Luce quest’Oggi cominciato!
Infallibile come la bella rotazione
Delle Stagioni e del Sole.
Antica la Grazia, ma nuovi i Sudditi —
Antico, invero, l’Oriente,
Eppure sul Suo Programma di Porpora
Ogni Alba, è la prima.
I had a daily Bliss
I half indifferent viewed
Till sudden I perceived it stir —
It grew as I pursued
Till when around a Height
It wasted from my sight
Increased beyond my utmost scope
I learned to estimate.
Avevo una Beatitudine quotidiana
Che guardavo mezza indifferente
Finché d’improvviso la percepii muoversi —
Cresceva mentre la inseguivo
Finché quando dietro un’Altura
Svanì dalla mia vista
Accresciuta oltre la mia estrema portata
Imparai a stimare.
Between the form of Life and Life
The difference is as big
As Liquor at the Lip between
And Liquor in the Jug
The latter — excellent to keep —
But for ecstatic need
The corkless is superior —
I know for I have tried
Tra la forma di Vita e la Vita
La differenza è grande
Quanto tra Liquore al Labbro
E Liquore nella Brocca
Quest’ultimo — eccellente da serbare —
Ma per estatico bisogno
Quello senza tappo è superiore —
Lo so perché ho provato
The Bird did prance — the Bee did play —
The Sun ran miles away
So blind with joy he could not choose
Between his Holiday
The morn was up — the meadows out
The Fences all but ran,
Republic of Delight, I thought
Where each is Citizen —
From Heavy laden Lands to thee
Were seas to cross to come
A Caspian were crowded —
Too near thou art for Fame —
L’Uccello caracollava — l’Ape giocava —
Il Sole correva miglia lontano
Sì cieco di gioia che non sapeva scegliere
Entro la sua Festa
Il mattino era alto — i prati fuori
Le Staccionate quasi correvano,
Repubblica del Diletto, pensai
Dove ognuno è Cittadino —
Da Terre Grevi e cariche a te
Erano mari da attraversare per giungere
Un Caspio sarebbe affollato —
Troppo vicina sei per la Fama —
Exhilaration is the Breeze
That lifts us from the Ground
And leaves us in another place
Whose statement is not found —
Returns us not, but after time
We soberly descend
A little newer for the term
Upon Enchanted Ground —
L’Esultanza è la Brezza
Che ci solleva dal Suolo
E ci lascia in un altro luogo
Di cui non si trova enunciato —
Non ci riporta, ma dopo tempo
Sobriamente discendiamo
Un poco più nuovi per quella sosta
Su Suolo Incantato —
Alone and in a Circumstance
Reluctant to be told
A spider on my reticence
Assiduously crawled
And so much more at Home than I
Immediately grew
I felt myself a visitor
And hurriedly withdrew
Revisiting my late abode
With articles of claim
I found it quietly assumed
As a Gymnasium
Where Tax asleep and Title off
The inmates of the Air
Perpetual presumption took
As each were special Heir —
If any strike me on the street
I can return the Blow —
If any take my property
According to the Law
The Statute is my Learned friend
But what redress can be
For an offense nor here nor there
So not in Equity —
That Larceny of time and mind
That marrow of the Day
By spider, or forbid it Lord
That I should specify.
Sola e in una Circostanza
Riluttante a esser detta
Un ragno sulla mia reticenza
Assiduamente strisciava
E tanto più a Casa di me
Immediatamente divenne
Che mi sentii un’ospite
E in fretta mi ritrassi
Rivisitando la mia dimora d’un tempo
Con articoli di rivendicazione
La trovai quietamente assunta
A Palestra
Dove Tassa dorme e Titolo assente
Gli inquilini dell’Aria
Perpetua presunzione presero
Come fosse ognuno Erede speciale —
Se qualcuno mi colpisce per strada
Posso rendere il Colpo —
Se qualcuno prende la mia proprietà
Secondo la Legge
Lo Statuto è il mio Dotto amico
Ma che riparo può esservi
Per un’offesa né qui né là
Dunque non in Equità —
Quel Furto di tempo e mente
Quel midollo del Giorno
Da ragno, o lo vieti il Signore
Che io lo specifichi.
The most triumphant Bird I ever knew or met
Embarked upon a twig today
And till Dominion set
I famish to behold so eminent a sight
And sang for nothing scrutable
But intimate Delight.
Retired, and resumed his transitive Estate —
To what delicious Accident
Does finest Glory fit!
L’Uccello più trionfante che mai conobbi o incontrai
S’imbarcò oggi sopra un ramoscello
E finché il Dominio tramontò
Bramavo di contemplare vista così eminente
E cantò per nulla di scrutabile
Se non intima Delizia.
Si ritirò, e riprese il suo transitivo Stato —
A quale delizioso Accidente
S’addice la Gloria più fina!
Those cattle smaller than a Bee
That herd upon the eye —
Whose tillage is the passing Crumb —
Those Cattle are the Fly —
Of Barns for Winter — blameless —
Extemporaneous stalls
They found to our objection —
On eligible walls —
Reserving the presumption
To suddenly descend
And gallop on the Furniture —
Or odiouser offend —
Of their peculiar calling
Unqualified to judge
To Nature we remand them
To justify or scourge —
Quel bestiame più piccolo d’un’Ape
Che pascola sull’occhio —
Il cui campo è la Briciola che passa —
Quel Bestiame è la Mosca —
Di Stalle per l’Inverno — incolpevole —
Stalle estemporanee
Trovarono a nostra obiezione —
Su muri eleggibili —
Riservandosi la presunzione
Di scendere d’improvviso
E galoppare sui Mobili —
O più odiosamente offendere —
Della loro peculiare vocazione
Inadatti a giudicare
Alla Natura li rimandiamo
Perché li giustifichi o flagelli —
Bees are Black, with Gilt Surcingles —
Buccaneers of Buzz.
Ride abroad in ostentation
And subsist on Fuzz.
Fuzz ordained — not Fuzz contingent —
Marrows of the Hill.
Jugs — a Universe’s fracture
Could not jar or spill.
Le Api sono Nere, con Sottopance Dorate —
Bucanieri di Ronzio.
Cavalcano in giro con ostentazione
E sussistono di Lanugine.
Lanugine ordinata — non Lanugine contingente —
Midolli della Collina.
Giare — che la frattura di un Universo
Non potrebbe scuotere né versare.
The Thrill came slowly like a Boom for
Centuries delayed
It’s fitness growing like the Flood
In sumptuous solitude —
The desolation only missed
While Rapture changed it’s Dress
And stood arrayed before the Change
In ravished Holiness —
Il Brivido venne lento come un Boato da
Secoli ritardato
La sua pienezza cresceva come il Diluvio
In sontuosa solitudine —
La desolazione soltanto mancò
Mentre l’Estasi mutava la sua Veste
E stava adorna dinanzi al Mutamento
In rapita Santità —
The Butterfly upon the Sky,
That doesn’t know its Name
And hasn’t any tax to pay
And hasn’t any Home
Is just as high as you and I,
And higher, I believe,
So soar away and never sigh
And that’s the way to grieve —
La Farfalla sopra il Cielo,
Che non conosce il suo Nome
E non ha tasse da pagare
E non ha alcuna Casa
È alta proprio quanto te e me,
E più alta, io credo,
Perciò vola via e non sospirare mai
E questo è il modo di piangere —
The Life that tied too tight escapes
Will ever after run
With a prudential look behind
And spectres of the Rein —
The Horse that scents the living Grass
And sees the Pastures smile
Will be retaken with a shot
If he is caught at all —
La Vita che legata troppo stretta sfugge
Correrà per sempre poi
Con uno sguardo prudente all’indietro
E spettri della Briglia —
Il Cavallo che fiuta l’Erba viva
E vede sorridere i Pascoli
Sarà ripreso con uno sparo
Se mai verrà catturato —
The Bat is dun, with wrinkled Wings —
Like fallow Article —
And not a song pervade his Lips —
Or none perceptible.
His small Umbrella quaintly halved
Describing in the Air
An Arc alike inscrutable
Elate Philosopher.
Deputed from what Firmament —
Of what Astute Abode —
Empowered with what Malignity
Auspiciously withheld —
To his adroit Creator
Acribe no less the praise —
Beneficent, believe me,
His Eccentricities —
Il Pipistrello è bruno, con Ali raggrinzite —
Come Articolo a maggese —
E nessuna canzone pervade le sue Labbra —
O nessuna percettibile.
Il suo piccolo Ombrello bizzarramente dimezzato
Descrivendo nell’Aria
Un Arco imperscrutabile al pari
D’un esultante Filosofo.
Deputato da quale Firmamento —
Da quale Astuta Dimora —
Investito di quale Malignità
Propiziamente trattenuta —
Al suo abile Creatore
Ascrivi non di meno la lode —
Benefiche, credimi,
Le sue Eccentricità —
The joy that has no stem no core,
Nor seed that we can sow,
Is edible to longing.
But ablative to show.
By fundamental palates
Those products are preferred
Impregnable to transit
And patented by pod.
La gioia che non ha stelo né torsolo,
Né seme che possiamo seminare,
È commestibile al desiderio.
Ma ablativa a mostrarsi.
Da palati fondamentali
Son preferiti quei prodotti
Inespugnabili al transito
E brevettati dal baccello.
… It’s a glorious afternoon—the sky is blue and warm—the wind blows just enough to keep the clouds sailing, and the sunshine—oh such sunshine! It isn’t like gold, for gold is dim beside it; it isn’t like anything which you or I have seen! It seems to me “Ik Marvel” was born on such a day; I only wish you were here. Such days were made on purpose for you and me; then what in the world are you gone for? Oh, dear, I do not know, but this I do know, that if wishing would bring you home, you were here to-day. Is it pleasant in Boston? Of course it isn’t, though. I might have known more than to make such an inquiry. No doubt the streets are muddy, and the sky some dingy hue, and I can think just how everything bangs and rattles, and goes rumbling along through stones and plank and clay! I don’t feel as if I could have you there, possibly, another day. I’m afraid you’ll turn into a bank, or a Pearl Street counting-room, if you have not already assumed some monstrous shape, living in such a place.
Let me see—April; three weeks until April—the very first of April—well, perhaps that will do, only be sure of the week, the whole week, and nothing but the week. If they make new arrangements, give my respects to them, and tell them old arrangements are good enough for you, and you will have them; then if they raise the wind, why, let it blow—there’s nothing more excellent than a breeze now and then!
What a time we shall have Fast day, after we get home from meeting—why, it makes me dance to think of it; and Austin, if I dance so many days beforehand, what will become of me when the hour really arrives? I don’t know, I’m sure; and I don’t care, much, for that or for anything else but get you home… . Much love from mother and Vinnie; we are now pretty well, and our hearts are set on April, the very first of April!
DEAR AUSTIN,—… I would not spend much strength upon those little school-boys—you will need it all for something better and braver after you get away. It would rejoice my heart if on some pleasant morning you’d turn the school-room key on Irish boys, nurse and all, and walk away to freedom and the sunshine here at home. Father says all Boston wouldn’t be a temptation to you another year—I wish it would not tempt you to stay another day. Oh, Austin, it is wrong to tantalize you so while you are braving all things in trying to fulfil duty. Duty is black and brown—home is bright and shining, “and the spirit and the bride say come, and let him that” wandereth come, for “behold all things are ready.” We are having such lovely weather—the air is as sweet and still—now and then a gay leaf falling—the crickets sing all day long—high in a crimson tree a belated bird is singing—a thousand little painters are tingeing hill and dale. I admit now, Austin, that autumn is most beautiful, and spring is but the least, yet they “differ as stars” in their distinctive glories. How happy if you were here to share these pleasures with us—the fruit should be more sweet, and the dying day more golden—merrier the falling nut if with you we gathered it and hid it down deep in the abyss of basket; but you complain not, wherefore do we?
Tuesday evening we had a beautiful time reading and talking of the good times of last summer, and we anticipated—boasted ourselves of to-morrow—of the future we created, and all of us went to ride in an air-bubble for a carriage. We cherish all the past, we glide a-down the present, awake yet dreaming; but the future of ours together —there the bird sings loudest, and the sun shines always there… .
I had a dissertation from E. C. a day or two ago—don’t know which was the author, Plato or Socrates—rather think Jove had a finger in it… . They all send their love. Vinnie sends hers. How soon you will be here! Days, flee away—“lest with a whip of scorpions I overtake your lingering.” I am in a hurry—this pen is too slow for me—“it hath done what it could.”
Following are letters written to her sister, Miss Lavinia Dickinson, while Emily was receiving treatment for her eyes in Boston. She was there for this purpose twice,—during the summer of 1864, and again in 1865, usually writing of these years as “when I was sick so long,” which has given many persons the idea of an invalidism she never had.
Concerning the little sister, not to assault, not to adjure, but to obtain those constancies which exalt friends, we followed her to St. Augustine, since which the trail was lost, or says George Stearns of his alligator, “there was no such aspect.”
The beautiful blossoms waned at last, the charm of all who knew them, resisting the effort of earth or air to persuade them to root, as the great florist says “The flower that never will in other climate grow.”
To thank you for its fragrance would be impossible, but then its other blissful traits are more than can be numbered. And the beloved Christmas, too, for which I never thanked you. I hope the little heart is well,—big would have been the width,—and the health solaced; any news of her as sweet as the first arbutus.
Emily and Vinnie give the love greater every hour.
So glad we are, a stranger’d deem ‘Twas sorry that we were; For where the holiday should be There publishes a tear; Nor how ourselves be justified, Since grief and joy are done So similar, an optizan Could not decide between.
DEAR FRIEND,—Has the journey ceased, or is it still progressing, and has Nature won you away from us, as we feared she would?
Othello is uneasy, but then Othellos always are, they hold such mighty stakes.
Austin brought me the picture of Salvini when he was last in Boston.
The brow is that of Deity—the eyes, those of the lost, but the power lies in the throat—pleading, sovereign, savage—the panther and the dove!
Each, how innocent!
I hope you found the mountains cordial—followed your meeting with the lakes with affecting sympathy.
Changelessness is Nature’s change.
The plants went into camp last night, their tender armor insufficient for the crafty nights.
That is one of the parting acts of the year, and has an emerald pathos—and Austin hangs bouquets of com in the piazza’s ceiling, also an omen, for Austin believes.
The “golden bowl” breaks soundlessly, but it will not be whole again till another year.
Did you read Emily Brontë’s marvellous verse?
“Though earth and man were gone, And suns and universes ceased to be, And Thou wert left alone, Every existence would exist in Thee.”
We are pining to know of you, and Vinnie thinks to see you would be the opening of the burr… .
DEAR FRIEND,—That a pansy is transitive, is its only pang.
This, precluding that, is indeed divine.
Bringing you handfuls in prospective, thank you for the love. Many an angel, with its needle, toils beneath the snow.
Sweet foot, that comes when we call it! I can go but a step a century, now.
How slow the wind, how slow the sea, How late their feathers be!
How strange that Nature does not knock, and yet does not intrude!