Emily Dickinson, 1758

 
Leafde kin alles mar wekt net
De Deaden op, ’k soe miene
Dat sy, sels oan sa’n reus ûntkeard,
Net fleis gelikens wienen

Mar leafde is wurch en hat ferlet
Fan sliep, is ropsk, moat weidzje,
Hantlanget sa de swide Stoet
Om út it sicht te reitsjen.

 

Love can do all but raise the Dead
I doubt if even that
From such a giant were withheld
Were flesh equivalent

But love is tired and must sleep,
And hungry and must graze
And so abets the shining Fleet
Till it is out of gaze.

 

F1758 (J1731). Vimeo: T E Morris, ‘Love Can Do All But Raise The Dead’, 2013, fideo Olya Dzhygyr.

 

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