Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (Эмили Дикинсон)

* * *

I went to thank her,
But she slept;
Her bed a funnelled stone,
With nosegays at the head and foot,
That travellers had thrown,

Who went to thank her;
But she slept.
'T was short to cross the sea
To look upon her like, alive,
But turning back 't was slow.

1. Sight
2. Portraits Are to Daily Faces
3. The Goal
4. The Preacher
5. A Shady Friend for Torrid Days

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