■→This text is also available in Polish.
Notes for Emily Dickinson’s poetry | Fascicles and print; the poetic correlative with Webster 1828 and other literary devices, Latin and Greek inspiration, an Aristotelian theme, Things perpetual — these are not in time, but in eternity. More→
(1) I. One Dignity
One dignity delays for all,
One mitred afternoon.
None can avoid this purple,
None evade this crown. More→
(2) II. Too Late
Delayed, till she had ceased to know,
Delayed, till in its vest of snow
Her loving bosom lay;
An hour behind the fleeting breath,
Later by just an hour than death —
Oh, lagging yesterday! More→
(3) III. Astra Castra
Departed to the judgment,
A mighty afternoon;
Great clouds like ushers leaning,
Creation looking on. More→
(4) IV. Safe in Their Alabaster Chambers
Untouched by morning and untouched by noon,
Sleep the meek members of the resurrection,
Rafter of satin, and roof of stone. More→
(5) V. On This Long Storm the Rainbow Rose
On this late morn the sun;
The clouds, like listless elephants,
Horizons straggled down. More→
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(6) VI. From the Chrysalis
My cocoon tightens, colors tease,
I’m feeling for the air;
A dim capacity for wings
Degrades the dress I wear. More→
(7) VII. Setting Sail
Exultation is the going
Of an inland soul to sea —
Past the houses, past the headlands,
Into deep eternity! More→
(8) VIII. Look Back on Time with Kindly Eyes
He doubtless did his best… More→
(9) IX. A Train Went Through a Burial Gate
A bird broke forth and sang,
And trilled, and quivered, and shook his throat
Till all the churchyard rang… More→
(10) X. I Died for Beauty
I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room. More→
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(11) XI. Troubled about Many Things
How many times these low feet staggered,
Only the soldered mouth can tell;
Try! can you stir the awful rivet?
Try! can you lift the hasps of steel? More→
(12) XII. Real
I like a look of agony,
Because I know it’s true;
Men do not sham convulsion,
Nor simulate a throe. More→
(13) XIII. The Funeral
That short, potential stir
That each can make, but once;
That bustle so illustrious… More→
(14) XIV. I Went to Thank Her
I went to thank her,
But she slept;
Her bed a funnelled stone,
With nosegays at the head and foot… More→
(15) XV. I’ve Seen a Dying Eye
Run round and round a room
In search of something, as it seemed… More→
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(16) XVI. Refuge
The clouds their backs together laid,
The north begun to push,
The forests galloped till they fell,
The lightning skipped like mice… More→
(17) XVII. I Never Saw a Moor
I never saw the sea;
Yet know I how the heather looks,
And what a wave must be. More→
(18) XVIII. Playmates
God permits industrious angels
Afternoons to play.
I met one, — forgot my school-mates,
All, for him, straightway. More→
(19) XIX. To Know Just How
To know just how he suffered would be dear;
To know if any human eyes were near
To whom he could intrust his wavering gaze,
Until it settled firm on Paradise. More→
(20) XX. The Last Night that She Lived
It was a common night,
Except the dying; this to us
Made nature different.
We noticed smallest things —
Things overlooked before,
By this great light upon our minds
Italicized, as ’t were. More→
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The world may never have seen her original handwriting, if her skill was taken for supernatural. Feel welcome to Poems by Emily Dickinson prepared for print by Teresa Pelka: thematic stanzas, notes on the Greek and Latin inspiration, the correlative with Webster 1828, and the Aristotelian motif, Things perpetual — these are not in time, but in eternity.
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(21) XXI. The First Lesson
Not in this world to see his face
Sounds long, until I read the place
Where this is said to be;
But just the primer to a life
Unopened, rare, upon the shelf,
Clasped yet to him and me. More→
(22) XXII. The Bustle in a House
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth —
The sweeping up the heart… More→
(23) XXIII. I Reason, Earth Is Short
And anguish absolute,
And many hurt;
But what of that? More→
(24) XXIV. Afraid?
Afraid? Of whom am I afraid?
Not death; for who is he?
The porter of my father’s lodge
As much abasheth me. More→
(25) XXV. Dying
The sun kept setting, setting still;
No hue of afternoon
Upon the village I perceived —
From house to house, ’t was noon.
The dusk kept dropping, dropping still;
No dew upon the grass,
But only on my forehead stopped,
And wandered in my face. More→
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(26) XXVI. Two Swimmers
Two swimmers wrestled on the spar
Until the morning sun,
When one turned smiling to the land.
O God, the other one! More→
(27) XXVII. The Chariot
Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.
We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility. More→
(28) XXVIII. She Went As Quiet As the Dew
From a familiar flower.
Not like the dew did she return
At the accustomed hour! More→
(29) XXIX. Resurgam
At last to be identified!
At last, the lamps upon thy side,
The rest of life to see! More→
(30) XXX. Except to Heaven, She Is Nought
Except for angels, lone;
Except to some wide-wandering bee,
A flower superfluous blown… More→
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(31) XXXI. Death Is a Dialogue
Death is a dialogue between
The spirit and the dust.
“Dissolve,” says Death. The Spirit, “Sir,
I have another trust.” More→
(32) XXXII. It Was Too Late For Man
But early yet for God;
Creation impotent to help,
But prayer remained our side. More→
(33) XXXIII. Along the Potomac
When I was small, a woman died.
To-day her only boy
Went up from the Potomac,
His face all victory.
To look at her; how slowly
The seasons must have turned
Till bullets clipt an angle,
And he passed quickly round! More→
(34) XXXIV. The Daisy Follows Soft the Sun
And when his golden walk is done,
Sits shyly at his feet.
He, waking, finds the flower near.
“Wherefore, marauder, art thou here?”
“Because, sir, love is sweet!” More→
(35) XXXV. Emancipation
No rack can torture me,
My soul’s at liberty.
Behind this mortal bone
There knits a bolder one:
You cannot prick with saw,
Nor rend with scymitar.
Two bodies therefore be;
Bind one, and one will flee. More→
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(36) XXXVI. Lost
I lost a world the other day.
Has anybody found?
You’ll know it by the row of stars
Around its forehead bound. More→
(37) XXXVII. If I Shouldn’t Be Alive
When the robins come,
Give the one in red cravat
A memorial crumb. More→
(38) XXXVIII. Sleep Is Supposed to Be
By souls of sanity,
The shutting of the eye.
Sleep is the station grand
Down which on either hand
The hosts of witness stand! More→
(39) XXXIX. I Shall Know Why, When Time Is Over
And I have ceased to wonder why;
Christ will explain each separate anguish
In the fair schoolroom of the sky. More→
(40) XL. I Never Lost As Much But Twice
And that was in the sod;
Twice have I stood a beggar
Before the door of God! More→
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The world may never have seen her original handwriting, if her skill was taken for supernatural. Feel welcome to Poems by Emily Dickinson prepared for print by Teresa Pelka: thematic stanzas, notes on the Greek and Latin inspiration, the correlative with Webster 1828, and the Aristotelian motif, Things perpetual — these are not in time, but in eternity.
■PDF Free Access, Internet Archive;
Electronic format 2.99 USD
■E-pub | NOOK Book | Kindle;
Soft cover, 260 pages, 16.89 USD
■Amazon | Barnes & Noble;
Hard cover, 260 pages, 21.91 USD
■Barnes & Noble | Lulu.

Knowledge gains with good translation
■Public Domain Translation
© & CC FROM AMERICAN ENGLISH TO POLISH


Świat może i nigdy nie widział jej oryginalnego pisma, jeśli jej umiejętność została wzięta za nadnaturalną. Zapraszam do Wierszy Emilii Dickinson w przekładzie Teresy Pelka: zwrotka tematyczna, notki o inspiracji greką i łaciną, korelacie z Websterem 1828 oraz wątku arystotelesowskim, Rzecz perpetualna — ta nie zasadza się na czasie, ale na wieczności.
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