domingo, 14 de fevereiro de 2010

Poema do domingo

My Life had stood—a Loaded Gun—
In Corners—till a Day
The Owner passed—identified—
And carried Me away—

And now We roam in Sovereign Woods—
And now We hunt the Doe—
And every time I speak for Him—
The Mountains straight reply—

And do I smile, such cordial light
Upon the Valley glow—
It is as a Vesuvian face
Had let its pleasure through—

And when at Night—Our good Day done—
I guard My Master's Head—
'Tis better than the Eider-Duck's
Deep Pillow—to have shared—

To foe of His—I'm deadly foe—
None stir the second time—
On whom I lay a Yellow Eye—
Or an emphatic Thumb—

Though I than He—may longer live
He longer must—than I—
For I have but the power to kill,
Without—the power to die—

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

7 comentários:

Mr X disse...


emilydickinson procê

minha vida também é uma loaded gun, pronta pr explodir


viu que uma mulher saiu por aí atirando porque não recebeu tenure?

vou ser eu, um dia desses


c* disse...


c* disse...

c* disse...

( je deteste parler toute ne commenterai plus dans ce putain de blog de merde....)

Mr X disse...


mais je suis ici...

Anônimo disse...

Olha, X, como são tolertantes esses muçulmanos. Vale muito a pena ver!

c* disse...

toma,zeno :

"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!"