Emily Dickinson, 352

Wat bliuwt ús? De Uneinige.
Mar is Er minske? Nee.
Syn fingers binne as fûsten grut -
Syn fûsten mânselheech -

En wa’t er grûnet, mei syn Earm -
Hâldt as de Alpen stân -
De Skoech Gibraltar, altyd dêr,
Leit losjes op syn Hân,

Dat Freon, fertrou him -
Do foar dy, en Ik foar dy en - my
De Ivichheid is rom genôch
En - mits besteand - deunby.


They leave us with the Infinite.
But He - is not a man -
His fingers are the size of fists -
His fists, the size of men -

And whom he foundeth, with his Arm
As Himmaleh, shall stand -
Gibraltar’s everlasting Shoe
Poised lightly on his Hand,

So trust him, Comrade -
You for you, and I, for you and - me
Eternity is ample,
And quick enough, if true.


F352 (J350). Ofbylding: Amherst College Library, Emily Dickinson Collection, fascicle 85.

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