Emily Dickinson, 207

 
Ik priuw in nea noch broude drank -
Ut Parlemoeren Romers fol -
Gjin Speierling út Frankfurt
Smyt op sa’n Alkohol!

Beskonken fan ’e lucht - bin Ik -
In Losbol fan ’e Dau -
Dy’t waggelet - in simmer lang -
Ut bars fan smolten Blau -

Wannear’t “Kastleins” de Pypkeblom
Untromje - Fuort, do dronken Bij! -
En Flinters - bin’ har “slokjes” gram -
Dan noch bin Ik drankslij!

Oant Searafs swaaie in Hoed fan snie -
En Santen - nei it finster rinne -
Om nei it Sûplapke te sjen
Dat linet tsjin de - Sinne!

 

I taste a liquor never brewed -
From Tankards scooped in Pearl -
Not all the Frankfort Berries
Yield such an Alcohol!

Inebriate of air - am I -
And Debauchee of Dew -
Reeling - thro’ 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!

 

F207 (J214). In eardere ferzje yn Emily Dickinson, Wetter, wurdt jin leard troch toarst. Twaentweintich fersen oerset troch Klaas van der Hoek, Zoeterwoude 1999, s. 15.

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