Emily Dickinson, 320

 
Der bestiet in Ljochtynfal,
Middeis yn de Wintertiid -
Dy’t oermannet, as de Galm
Fan in Tsjerklik Liet -

Himelsk Letsel is ús diel -
Dat gjin groeden achterlit,
Oars as ynderlik ferskil,
Dêr’t Betsjutting sit -

Nimmen ûnderwiist it - Wat ek -
Majesteitlik bin’ wy knoeid -
’t Is de Wanhoop Segele,
Us fan Boppen stjoerd -

As it komt, lústert it Omlân -
Skaden - sykhelje net mear -
As it giet, is ’t as de Ofstân
By it sjen fan Dea -

 

There’s a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons -
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes -

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us -
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the Meanings, are -

None may teach it - Any -
’Tis the Seal Despair -
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air -

When it comes, the Landscape listens -
Shadows - hold their breath -
When it goes, ’tis like the Distance
On the look of Death -

 

F320 (J258)

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