Emily Dickinson, 554

 
Om Muorren - soe ’k net male -
Wie hiel ’t Hielal - Beton -
En hearde Ik syn sulveren Rop
Fan fierren - Oarekant -

’k Soe boarje - oant myn Tunnel
Ynienen state op synt -
Dan naam myn blik har Smertejild -
Him yn de Eagen sjen -

Mar ’t is in losse Hier -
In wet - wat fezeltried -
In Spinneweb - weefd yn Granyt -
In Bastion - fan Strie -

In skied as wat in Dame
Foar ’t antlit hâldt - in Wale -
Mar elke Mesk - in Sitadel -
En Draken - yn de Fâlden -

 

I had not minded - Walls -
Were Universe - one Rock -
And far I heard his silver Call
The other side the Block -

I’d tunnel - till my Groove
Pushed sudden thro’ to his -
Then my face take her Recompense -
The looking in his Eyes -

But ’tis a single Hair -
A filament - a law -
A Cobweb - wove in Adamant -
A Battlement - of Straw -

A limit like the Vail
Unto the Lady’s face -
But every Mesh - a Citadel -
And Dragons - in the Crease -

 

F554 (J398). Ofbylding: Houghton Library, Harvard University, Cambridge, MA.

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