Funny — to be a Century —
And see the People — going by —
I — should die of the Oddity —
But then — I’m not so staid — as He —
He keeps His Secrets safely — very —
Were He to tell — extremely sorry
This Bashful Globe of Ours would be —
So dainty of Publicity —
Buffo — essere un Secolo —
E vedere la Gente — passare —
Io — morirei della Stranezza —
Ma poi — non sono così posata — come Lui —
Lui custodisce i Suoi Segreti al sicuro — molto —
Se Lui raccontasse — estremamente dolente
Questo Nostro Timido Globo sarebbe —
Così schivo di Pubblicità —
—
The Months have ends — the Years — a knot —
No Power can untie
To stretch a little further
A Skein of Misery —
The Earth lays back these tired lives
In her mysterious Drawers —
Too tenderly, that any doubt
An ultimate Repose —
The manner of the Children —
Who weary of the Day —
Themself — the noisy Plaything
They cannot put away —
—
I Mesi hanno fini — gli Anni — un nodo —
Che nessuna Potenza può sciogliere
Per stendere un poco più oltre
Una Matassa di Miseria —
La Terra ripone queste vite stanche
Nei suoi Cassetti misteriosi —
Troppo teneramente, perché alcuno dubiti
Di un estremo Riposo —
Alla maniera dei Bambini —
Che stanchi del Giorno —
Essi stessi — il chiassoso Balocco
Che non riescono a riporre —
I had no time to Hate —
Because
The Grave would hinder Me —
And Life was not so
Ample I
Could finish — Enmity —
Nor had I time to Love —
But since
Some Industry must be —
The little Toil of Love —
I thought
Be large enough for Me —
Non ebbi tempo di Odiare —
Perché
La Tomba mi avrebbe intralciata —
E la Vita non era così
Ampia che io
Potessi finire — l’Inimicizia —
Né ebbi tempo di Amare —
Ma poiché
Qualche Industria dev’esserci —
La piccola Fatica dell’Amore —
Pensai
Fosse abbastanza grande per Me —
I could not prove the Years had feet —
Yet confident they run
Am I, from symptoms that are past
And Series that are done —
I find my feet have further Goals —
I smile upon the Aims
That felt so ample — Yesterday —
Today’s — have vaster claims —
I do not doubt the self I was
Was competent to me —
But something awkward in the fit —
Proves that — outgrown — I see —
Non potevo provare che gli Anni avessero piedi —
Eppure fiduciosa che corrano
Sono, per sintomi ormai trascorsi
E Serie che sono compiute —
Trovo che i miei piedi hanno Mete più lontane —
Sorrido agli Scopi
Che parvero così ampi — Ieri —
Quelli d’Oggi — hanno più vaste pretese —
Non dubito che l’io che fui
Mi fosse adeguato —
Ma qualcosa di goffo nella misura —
Prova che — ormai cresciuta oltre — io vedo —
Forever — is composed of Nows —
‘Tis not a different time —
Except for Infiniteness —
And Latitude of Home —
From this — experienced Here —
Remove the Dates — to These —
Let Months dissolve in further Months —
And Years — exhale in Years —
Without Debate — or Pause —
Or Celebrated Days —
No different Our Years would be
From Anno Domini’s —
Il Sempre — è composto di Adesso —
Non è un tempo differente —
Se non per l’Infinitezza —
E la Latitudine della Casa —
Da questo — sperimentato Qui —
Togli le Date — a Questi —
Lascia che i Mesi si dissolvano in altri Mesi —
E gli Anni — esalino in Anni —
Senza Dibattito — o Pausa —
O Giorni Celebrati —
In nulla i Nostri Anni differirebbero
Da quelli dell’Anno Domini —
Two — were immortal twice —
The privilege of few —
Eternity — obtained — in Time —
Reversed Divinity —
That our ignoble Eyes
The quality conceive
Of Paradise superlative —
Through their Comparative.
Due — furono immortali due volte —
Privilegio di pochi —
L’Eternità — ottenuta — nel Tempo —
Divinità Rovesciata —
Perché i nostri ignobili Occhi
Concepiscano la qualità
Del Paradiso superlativo —
Attraverso il loro Comparativo.
Time feels so vast that were it not
For an Eternity —
I fear me this Circumference
Engross my Finity —
To His exclusion, who prepare
By Processes of Size
For the Stupendous Vision
Of his diameters —
Il Tempo pare sì vasto che se non fosse
Per un’Eternità —
temo che questa Circonferenza
Assorba la mia Finitezza —
A esclusione di Lui, che prepara
Con Processi di Grandezza
Alla Stupenda Visione
Dei suoi diametri —
There is a Zone whose even Years
No Solstice interrupt —
Whose Sun constructs perpetual Noon
Whose perfect Seasons wait —
Whose Summer set in Summer, till
The Centuries of June
And Centuries of August cease
And Consciousness — is Noon.
C’è una Zona i cui Anni uguali
Nessun Solstizio interrompe —
Il cui Sole costruisce perpetuo Mezzogiorno
Le cui perfette Stagioni attendono —
La cui Estate posa nell’Estate, finché
I Secoli di Giugno
E i Secoli di Agosto cessano
E la Coscienza — è Mezzogiorno.
We do not know the time we lose —
The awful moment is
And takes its fundamental place
Among the certainties —
A firm appearance still inflates
The card — the chance — the friend —
The spectre of solidities
Whose substances are sand —
Non conosciamo il tempo che perdiamo —
Il momento tremendo è
E prende il suo posto fondamentale
Tra le certezze —
Una salda apparenza ancora gonfia
La carta — la sorte — l’amico —
Lo spettro di solidità
Le cui sostanze sono sabbia —
This slow Day moved along —
I heard its axles go
As if they could not hoist themselves
They hated motion so —
I told my soul to come —
It was no use to wait —
We went and played and came again
And it was out of sight —
Questo lento Giorno avanzava —
Ne udivo andare gli assi
Come se non potessero sollevarsi
Tanto odiavano il moto —
Dissi alla mia anima di venire —
Era inutile aspettare —
Andammo e giocammo e tornammo
Ed era fuori di vista —
The Days that we can spare
Are those a Function die
Or Friend or Nature — stranded then
In our Economy
Our Estimates a Scheme —
Our Ultimates a Sham —
We let go all of Time without
Arithmetic of him —
I Giorni che possiamo risparmiare
Sono quelli in cui una Funzione muore
O un Amico o la Natura — arenati allora
Nella nostra Economia
Le nostre Stime uno Schema —
I nostri Ultimi una Finzione —
Lasciamo andare tutto il Tempo senza
Aritmetica di lui —
Like Time’s insidious wrinkle
On a beloved Face
We clutch the Grace the tighter
Though we resent the crease
The Frost himself so comely
Dishevels every prime
Asserting from his Prism
That none can punish him
Come l’insidiosa ruga del Tempo
Su un Volto amato
Stringiamo la Grazia più forte
Pur risentendo della piega
Il Gelo stesso così leggiadro
Scompiglia ogni fioritura
Asserendo dal suo Prisma
Che nessuno può punirlo
’Twas later when the summer went
Than when the cricket came,
And yet we knew that gentle clock
Meant nought but going home.
’T was sooner when the cricket went
Than when the winter came,
Yet that pathetic pendulum
Keeps esoteric time.
Fu più tardi quando l’estate se ne andò
Che quando venne il grillo,
Eppure sapevamo che quel gentile orologio
Non voleva dir altro che tornare a casa.
Fu più presto quando il grillo se ne andò
Che quando venne l’inverno,
Eppure quel patetico pendolo
Segna un tempo esoterico.
A little Snow was here and there
Disseminated in her Hair —
Since she and I had met and played
Decade had gathered to Decade —
But Time had added not obtained
Impregnable the Rose
For summer too indelible
Too obdurate for Snows —
Un po’ di Neve qua e là
Disseminata nei suoi Capelli —
Da quando lei ed io ci incontrammo e giocammo
Decade s’era aggiunta a Decade —
Ma il Tempo aveva aggiunto non ottenuto
Inespugnabile la Rosa
Per l’estate troppo indelebile
Troppo ostinata per le Nevi —
We talked with each other about each other
Though neither of us spoke —
We were listening to the seconds’ Races
And the Hoofs of the Clock —
Pausing in Front of our Palsied Faces
Time compassion took —
Arks of Reprieve he offered to us —
Ararats — we took —
Parlavamo l’uno con l’altro l’uno dell’altro
Benché nessuno dei due parlasse —
Ascoltavamo le Corse dei secondi
E gli Zoccoli dell’Orologio —
Sostando davanti ai nostri Volti Paralizzati
Il Tempo ebbe compassione —
Arche di Tregua ci offrì —
Ararat — noi prendemmo —
The Pile of Years is not so high
As when you came before
But it is rising every Day
From recollection’s Floor
And while by standing on my Heart
I still can reach the top
Efface the mountain with your face
And catch me ere I drop
Il Cumulo degli Anni non è così alto
Come quando venisti la prima volta
Ma si innalza ogni Giorno
Dal Pavimento del ricordo
E finché stando in piedi sul mio Cuore
Posso ancora toccarne la cima
Cancella la montagna col tuo volto
E afferrami prima ch’io cada
Oh Future! thou secreted peace
Or subterranean woe —
Is there no wandering route of grace
That leads away from thee —
No circuit sage of all the course
Descried by cunning Men
To balk thee of thy sacred Prey —
Advancing to thy Den —
Oh Futuro! tu celata pace
O sotterraneo dolore —
Non v’è errante via di grazia
Che conduca lontano da te —
Nessun saggio giro dell’intero corso
Scorto da Uomini astuti
Per sottrarti la tua sacra Preda —
Che avanza verso la tua Tana —
Down Time’s quaint stream
Without an oar
We are enforced to sail
Our Port a secret
Our Perchance a Gale
What Skipper would
Incur the Risk
What Buccaneer would ride
Without a surety from the Wind
Or schedule of the Tide —
Giù per la bizzarra corrente del Tempo
Senza un remo
Siamo costretti a veleggiare
Nostro Porto un segreto
Nostro Forse una Burrasca
Quale Capitano vorrebbe
Correre il Rischio
Quale Bucaniere cavalcherebbe
Senza una garanzia dal Vento
O un orario della Marea —
Softened by Time’s consummate plush,
How sleek the woe appears
That threatened childhood’s citadel
And undermined the years.
Bisected now, by bleaker griefs,
We envy the despair
That devastated childhood’s realm,
So easy to repair.
Ammorbidita dal felpato supremo del Tempo,
Come liscia appare la pena
Che minacciò la cittadella dell’infanzia
E minò gli anni.
Bisecati ora, da più cupi affanni,
Invidiamo la disperazione
Che devastò il regno dell’infanzia,
Così facile a ripararsi.
DEAR A.,—After receiving the smitings of conscience for a long time, I have at length succeeded in stifling the voice of that faithful monitor by a promise of a long letter to you; so leave everything and sit down prepared for a long siege in the shape of a bundle of nonsense from friend E.
… I keep your lock of hair as precious as gold and a great deal more so. I often look at it when I go to my little lot of treasures, and wish the owner of that glossy lock were here. Old Time wags on pretty much as usual at Amherst, and I know of nothing that has occurred to break the silence; however, the reduction of the postage has excited my risibles somewhat. Only think! We can send a letter before long for five little coppers only, filled with the thoughts and advice of dear friends. But I will not get into a philosophizing strain just yet. There is time enough for that upon another page of this mammoth sheet… . Your beau idéal D. I have not seen lately. I presume he was changed into a star some night while gazing at them, and placed in the constellation Orion between Bellatrix and Betelgeux. I doubt not if he was here he would wish to be kindly remembered to you. What delightful weather we have had for a week! It seems more like smiling May crowned with flowers than cold, arctic February wading through snowdrifts. I have heard some sweet little birds sing, but I fear we shall have more cold weather and their little bills will be frozen up before their songs are finished. My plants look beautifully. Old King Frost has not had the pleasure of snatching any of them in his cold embrace as yet, and I hope will not. Our little pussy has made out to live. I believe you know what a fatality attends our little kitties, all of them, having had six die one right after the other. Do you love your little niece J. as well as ever? Your soliloquy on the year that is past and gone was not unheeded by me. Would that we might spend the year which is now fleeting so swiftly by to better advantage than the one which we have not the power to recall! Now I know you will laugh, and say I wonder what makes Emily so sentimental. But I don’t care if you do, for I sha’n’t hear you. What are you doing this winter? I am about everything. I am now work—ing a pair of slippers to adorn my father’s feet. I wish you would come and help me finish them… . Although it is late in the day, I am going to wish you a happy New Year,—not but what I think your New Year will pass just as happily without it, but to make a little return for your kind wish, which so far in a good many respects has been granted, probably because you wished that it might be so… . I go to singing-school Sabbath evenings to improve my voice. Don’t you envy me? …
I wish you would come and make me a long visit. If you will, I will entertain you to the best of my abilities, which you know are neither few nor small. Why can’t you persuade your father and mother to let you come here to school next term, and keep me company, as I am going? Miss——-, I presume you can guess who I mean, is going to finish her education next summer. The finishing stroke is to be put on at Newton. She will then have learned all that we poor foot-travellers are toiling up the hill of knowledge to acquire. Wonderful thought! Her horse has carried her along so swiftly that she has nearly gained the summit, and we. are plodding along on foot after her. Well said and sufficient this. We’ll finish an education sometime, won’t we? You may then be Plato, and I will be Socrates, provided you won’t be wiser than I am. Lavinia just now interrupted my flow of thought by saying give my love to A. I presume you will be glad to have some one break off this epistle. All the girls send much love to you. And please accept a large share for yourself.
DEAREST A.,—As I just glanced at the clock and saw how smoothly the little hands glide over the surface, I could scarcely believe that those selfsame little hands had eloped with so many of my precious moments since I received your affectionate letter, and it was still harder for me to believe that I, who am always boasting of being so faithful a correspondent, should have been guilty of negligence in so long delaying to answer it… . I am very glad to hear that you are better than you have been, and I hope in future disease will not be as neighborly as he has been heretofore to either of us. I long to see you, dear A., and speak with you face to face; but so long as a bodily interview is denied us, we must make letters answer, though it is hard for friends to be separated. I really believe you would have been frightened to have heard me scold when Sabra informed me that you had decided not to visit Amherst this fall. But as I could find no one upon whom to vent my spleen for your decision, I thought it best to be calm, and therefore have at length resigned myself to my cruel fate, though with not a very good grace. I think you do well to inquire whether anything has been heard from H. I really don’t know what has become of her, unless procrastination has carried her off. I think that must be the case. I think you have given quite a novel description of the wedding. Are you quite sure Mr. F., the minister, told them to stand up and he would tie them in a great bow-knot? But I beg pardon for speaking so lightly of so solemn a ceremony. You asked me in your letter if I did not think you partial in your admiration of Miss Helen H., ditto Mrs. P. I answer, Not in the least. She was universally beloved in Amherst. She made us quite a visit in June, and we regretted more than ever that she was going where we could not see her as often as we had been accustomed. She seemed very happy in her prospects, and seemed to think distance nothing in comparison to a home with the one of her choice. I hope she will be happy, and of course she will. I wished much to see her once more, but was denied the privilege… . You asked me if I was attending school now. I am not. Mother thinks me not able to confine myself to school this term. She had rather I would exercise, and I can assure you I get plenty of that article by staying at home. I am going to learn to make bread to-morrow. So you may imagine me with my sleeves rolled up, mixing flour, milk, saleratus, etc., with a deal of grace. I advise you if you don’t know how to make the staff of life to learn with dispatch. I think I could keep house very comfortably if I knew how to cook. But as long as I don’t, my knowledge of housekeeping is about of as much use as faith without works, which you know we are told is dead. Excuse my quoting from Scripture, dear A., for it was so handy in this case I couldn’t get along very well without it. Since I wrote you last, the summer is past and gone, and autumn with the sere and yellow leaf is already upon us. I never knew the time to pass so swiftly, it seems to me, as the past summer. I really think some one must have oiled his chariot wheels, for I don’t recollect of hearing him pass, and I am sure I should if something had not prevented his chariot wheels from creaking as usual. But I will not expatiate upon him any longer, for I know it is wicked to trifle with so revered a personage, and I fear he will make me a call in person to inquire as to the remarks which I have made concerning him. Therefore I will let him alone for the present… . How are you getting on with your music? Well, I hope and trust. I am taking lessons and am getting along very well, and now I have a piano, I am very happy. I feel much honored at having even a doll named for me. I believe I shall have to give it a silver cup, as that is the custom among old ladies when a child is named for them… . Have you any flowers now? I have had a beautiful flower-garden this summer; but they are nearly gone now. It is very cold to-night, and I mean to pick the prettiest ones before I go to bed, and cheat Jack Frost of so many of the treasures he calculates to rob to-night. Won’t it be a capital idea to put him at defiance, for once at least, if no more? I would love to send you a bouquet if I had an opportunity, and you could press it and write under it, The last flowers of summer. Wouldn’t it be poetical, and you know that is what young ladies aim to be now-a-days… . I expect I have altered a good deal since I have seen you, dear A. I have grown tall a good deal, and wear my golden tresses done up in a net-cap. Modesty, you know, forbids me to mention whether my personal appearance has altered. I leave that for others to judge. But my [word omitted] has not changed, nor will it in time to come. I shall always remain the same old sixpence… . I can say no more now, as it is after ten, and everybody has gone to bed but me. Don’t forget your affectionate friend,
A., MY DEAR,—Since I received your precious letter another year has commenced its course, and the old year has gone never to return. How sad it makes one feel to sit down quietly and think of the flight of the old year, and the unceremonious obtrusion of the new year upon our notice! How many things we have omitted to do which might have cheered a human heart, or whispered hope in the ear of the sorrowful, and how many things have we, done over which the dark mantle of regret will ever fall! How many good resolutions did I make at the commencement of the year now flown, merely to break them and to feel more than ever convinced of the weakness of my own resolutions! The New Year’s day was unusually gloomy to me, I know not why, and perhaps for that reason a host of unpleasant reflections forced themselves upon me which I found not easy to throw off. But I will no longer sentimentalize upon the past, for I cannot recall it. I will, after inquiring for the health of my dear A., relapse into a more lively strain. I can hardly, have patience to write, for I have not seen you for so long that I have worlds of things to tell you, and my pen is not swift enough to answer my purpose at all. However, I will try to make it communicate as much information as possible and wait to see your own dear self once more before I relate all my thoughts which have come and gone since I last saw you. I suppose from your letter that you are enjoying yourself finely this winter at Miss C.’s school. I would give a great deal if I was there with you. I don’t go to school this winter except to a recitation in German. Mr. C. has a very large class, and father thought I might never have another opportunity to study it. It takes about an hour and a half to recite. Then I take music lessons and practise two hours in a day, and besides these two I have a large stand of plants to cultivate. This is the principal round of my occupation this winter… . I have just seen a funeral procession go by of a negro baby, so if my ideas are rather dark you need not marvel… . Old Santa Claus was very polite to me the last Christmas. I hung up my stocking on the bedpost as usual. I had a perfume bag and a bottle of otto of rose to go with it, a sheet of music, a china mug with Forget me not upon it, from S. S.,—who, by the way, is as handsome, entertaining, and as fine a piano player as in former times,—a toilet cushion, a watch case, a fortuneteller, and an amaranthine stock of pin-cushions and needlebooks, which in ingenuity and art would rival the works of Scripture Dorcas. I found abundance of candy in my stocking, which I do not think has had the anticipated effect upon my disposition, in case it was to sweeten it, also two hearts at the bottom of all, which I thought looked rather ominous; but I will not enter into any more details, for they take up more room than I can spare.
Haven’t we had delightful weather for a week or two? It seems as if Old Winter had forgotten himself. Don’t you believe he is absent-minded? It has been bad weather for colds, however. I have had a severe cold for a few days, and can sympathize with you, though I have been delivered from a stiff neck. I think you must belong to the tribe of Israel, for you know in the Bible the prophet calls them a stiff-necked generation. I have lately come to the conclusion that I am Eve, alias Mrs. Adam. You know there is no account of her death in the Bible, and why am not I Eve? If you find any statements which you think likely to prove the truth of the case, I wish you would send them to me without delay.
Have you heard a word from H. M. or S. T.? I consider them lost sheep. I send them a paper every week on Monday, but I never get one in return. I am almost a mind to take a hand-car and go around to hunt them up. I can’t think that they have forgotten us, and I know of no reason unless they are sick why they should delay so long to show any signs of remembrance. Do write me soon a very long letter, and tell me all about your school and yourself too.
MY DEAR A.,—Though it is a long time since I received your affectionate epistle, yet when I give you my reasons for my long delay, I know you will freely forgive and forget all past offences.
It seems to me that time has never flown so swiftly with me as it has the last spring. I have been busy every minute, and not only so, but hurried all the time. So you may imagine that I have not had a spare moment, much though my heart has longed for it, to commune with an absent friend… . I presume you will be wondering by this time what I am doing to be in so much haste as I have declared myself to be. Well, I will tell you. I am fitting to go to South Hadley Seminary, and expect if my health is good to enter that institution a year from next fall. Are you not astonished to hear such news? You cannot imagine how much I am anticipating in entering there. It has been in my thought by day, and my dreams by night, ever since I heard of South Hadley Seminary. I fear I am anticipating too much, and that some freak of fortune may overturn all my airy schemes for future happiness. But it is my nature always to anticipate more than I realize… . Have you not heard that Miss Adams—dear Miss Adams—is here this term? Oh, you cannot imagine how natural it seems to see her happy face in school once more. But it needs Harriet, Sarah, and your own dear self to complete the ancient picture. I hope we shall get you all back before Miss Adams goes away again. Have you yet heard a word from that prodigal,—H.? …
Numerous postscripts are appended, as usually:—
I have really suffered from the heat the last week. I think it remarkable that we should have such weather in September. There were over one hundred deaths in Boston last week, a great many of them owing to the heat. Mr. Taylor, our old teacher, was in Amherst at Commencement time. Oh, I do love Mr. Taylor. It seems so like old times to meet Miss Adams and Mr. Taylor together again. I could hardly refrain from singing, “Auld Lang Syne.” It seemed so very à propos. Have you forgotten the memorable ride we all took with Mr. Taylor, “Long, long ago”? … Austin entered college last Commencement. Only think! I have a brother who has the honor to be a Freshman! Will you not promise me that you will come to Commencement when he graduates? Do! Please! I have altered very much since you were here. I am now very tall, and wear long dresses nearly. Do you believe we shall know each other when we meet? Don’t forget to write soon.
Only think, you are coming Saturday! I don’t know why it is that it’s always Sunday immediately you get home. I will arrange it differently. If it wasn’t twelve o’clock I would stay longer.
DEAR FRIEND,—The paper wanders so I cannot write my name on it, so I give you father’s portrait instead.
As summer into autumn slips And yet we sooner say “The summer” than “the autumn,” lest We turn the sun away,
And almost count it an affront The presence to concede Of one however lovely, not The one that we have loved,—
So we evade the charge of years, One, one attempting shy The circumvention of the shaft Of life’s declivity.
DEAR FRIEND,—
The clock strikes one that just struck two— Some schism in the sum; A sorcerer from Genesis Has wrecked the pendulum.
With warmest congratulation,