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Ma, mia cara Mrs. Holland, ho un'altra storia da raccontare, e lascio da parte le risate, per poter sospirare. La mamma non sta bene da quando siamo a casa , e Vinnie e io abbiamo "diretto", e Vinnie e io abbiamo "sistemato", e ancora mandiamo avanti la casa paterna, e la mamma giace sul divano, o siede nella sua poltroncina. Dalla sua pazza Emilie. Higginson in un articolo su "The Atlantic Monthly" dell'aprile Holland, Sarah, era morto il 12 gennaio.
His fair sunshiny head Is ever bounding round my study chair - Yet, when my eyes, now dim With tears, I turn to him - The vision vanishes - he is not there!
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I walk my parlor floor And, through the open door, I hear a footfall on the chamber stair - I'm stepping toward the hall To give the boy a call - And then bethink me That - he is not there - I thread the crowded street - A satchelled lad I meet, With the same beaming eyes, and colored hair - And, as he's running by, - Follow him with my eye - Scarcely believing that - he is not there!
I know his face is hid Under the coffin lid, Closed are his eyes; cold is his forehead; My hand that marble felt - O'er it in prayer I knelt, Yet my heart whispers that, he is not there! I cannot make him dead - When passing by the bed So long watched over with parental care - My spirit and my eye Seek it inquiringly, Before the tho't comes that, he is not there! When, at the cool, gray break Of day, from sleep I wake With my first breathing of the morning air My soul goes up, with joy, To him who gave my boy, - Then comes the sad tho't, that he is not there!
When at the day's calm close, Before we seek repose - I'm with his mother, offering up our prayer - Whate'er I may be saying, I am, in spirit, praying For our boy's spirit, tho', he is not there! The form I used to see Was but the raiment that he used to wear; The grave - that now doth press Upon that cast-off dress - Is but his wardrobe locked, he is not there! Non posso credere che sia morto! I miei saluti affettuosi a tua madre e a Jennie - Tanto affetto anche a te da Emilie -. It is Sunday - now- John - and all have gone to church - the wagons have done passing, and I have come out in the new grass to listen to the anthems.
Three or four Hens have followed me, and we sit side by side - and while they crow and whisper, I'll tell you what I see today, and what I would that you saw - You remember the crumbling wall that divides us from Mr Sweetser - and the crumbling elms and the evergreens - and other crumbling things - that spring, and fade, and cast their bloom within a simple twelvemonth - well - they are here , and skies on me fairer far than Italy, in blue eye look down - up - see!
And here are Robins - just got home - and giddy Crows - and Jays - and will you trust me - as I live, here's a bumblebee - not such as summer brings - John - earnest, manly bees, but a kind of a Cockney, dressed in jaunty clothes. Much is that is gay - have I to show, if you were with me, John, upon this April grass - then there are sadder features - here and there, wings half gone to dust, that fluttered so, last year - a mouldering plume, an empty house, in which a bird resided. Where last year's flies, their errand ran, and last year's crickets fell! We, too, are flying - fading, John - and the song "here lies," soon upon lips that love us now - will have hummed and ended.
To live, and die, and mount again in triumphant body, and next time, try the upper air - is no schoolboy's theme! It is a jolly thought to think that we can be Eternal - when air and earth are full of lives that are gone - and done - and a conceited thing indeed, this promised Resurrection! And when busier cares, and dustier days, and cobwebs, less unfrequent - shut what was away, still, as a ballad hummed, and lost, remember early friend, and drop a tear, if a troubadour that strain may chance to sing.
I am glad you have a school to teach - and happy that it is pleasant - amused at the Clerical Civility - of your new friends - and shall feel - I know, delight and pride, always, when you succeed. I play the old, odd tunes yet, which used to flit about your head after honest hours - and wake dear Sue, and madden me, with their grief and fun - How far from us, that spring seems - and those triumphant days - Our April got to Heaven first - Grant we may meet her there - at the "right hand of the Father.
Susie's, and Mattie's compliments, and Vinnie's just here, and write again if you will -. Sabbath Night Don't tell, dear Mrs. And I'm half tempted to take my seat in that Paradise of which the good man writes, and begin forever and ever now , so wondrous does it seem. My only sketch, profile, of Heaven is a large, blue sky, bluer and larger than the biggest I have seen in June, and in it are my friends - all of them - every one of them - those who are with me now, and those who were "parted" as we walked, and "snatched up to Heaven.
Don't tell Him, for the world, though, for after all He's said about it, I should like to see what He was building for us, with no hammer, and no stone, and no journeyman either. Holland, I love, to-night - love you and Dr. Holland, and "time and sense" - and fading things, and things that do not fade. Holland," then, I think I love you most, and trust that tiny lady will dwell below while we dwell, and when with many a wonder we seek the new Land, her wistful face, with ours, shall look the last upon the hills, and first upon - well, Home!
Pardon my sanity, Mrs. Holland, in a world in sane, and love me if you will, for I had rather be loved than to be called a king in earth, or a lord in Heaven. Thank you for your sweet note - the clergy are very well. Will bring such fragments from them as shall seem me good. I kiss my paper here for you and Dr. Holland - would it were cheeks instead. The bobolinks have gone. Domenica Sera Non lo dica, cara Mrs.
E sono quasi tentata di prendere posto in quel Paradiso di cui scrive il sant'uomo e cominciare subito nei secoli dei secoli, tanto sembra meraviglioso. Holland, voglio bene, stasera - voglio bene a lei e al Dr. Holland, e "al tempo e al senso" - e alle cose che appassiscono, e alle cose che non appassiscono. Come la "piccola Mrs. Perdoni la mia ragionevolezza, Mrs. Grazie per il suo dolce biglietto - il clero sta bene. Do un bacio al foglio qui per lei e per il Dr. Holland - anche se vorrei fosse invece sulle guance. I bobolink se ne sono andati. Ah John - Gone? Your Coz - Emilie.
Ah John - Partito? Tua Cugina - Emilie. Questa lettera, consegnata a mano, fu spedita presumibilmente durante le vacanze estive, quando Graves venne in visita ad Amherst in agosto durante il periodo dell'inaugurazione dell'anno. I would that all I love, should be weak no more. You ask me what my flowers said - then they were disobedient - I gave them messages. They said what the lips in the West, say, when the sun goes down, and so says the Dawn.
I did not tell you that today had been the Sabbath Day. Each Sabbath on the Sea, makes me count the Sabbaths, till we meet on shore - and will the whether the hills will look as blue as the sailors say - I cannot [talk] stay any [more] longer tonight [now], for this pain denies me - How strong when weak to recollect, and easy quite, to love.
Will you tell me, please to tell me, soon as you are well -. Mi chiede che cosa dicevano i miei fiori - allora sono stati disobbedienti - avevo dato loro dei messaggi. Dicevano quello che dicono le labbra a Occidente, quando il sole tramonta, la stessa cosa che dice l'Alba. Mi ascolti ancora, Maestro. Non le ho detto che oggi era domenica. Le tre lettere bozze con diverse correzioni furono ritrovate tra le carte di ED e non si sa se sia mai esistita una bella copia inviata al misterioso destinatario.
The Letters of (Le lettere di) Emily Dickinson -
Le altre due lettere sono la L e la L I send a Violet, for Libby. I should have sent a stem , but was overtaken by snow drifts. I regret deeply, not to add a Butterfly, but have lost my Hat , which precludes my catching one.
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Shall send "Little Jennie" as soon as I know where the Owner is. Am much ashamed to have kept it so long. Mando una Violetta, per Libby. Mi rincresce profondamente, di non aver aggiunto una Farfalla, ma ho perso il Cappello , il che mi impedisce di acchiapparle. I am sorry you came, because you went away. Hereafter, I will pick no Rose, lest it fade or prick me. I would like to have you dwell here. Though it is almost nine o'clock, the skies are gay and yellow, and there's a purple craft or so, in which a friend could sail.
Tonight looks like "Jerusalem. I hope we may all behave so as to reach Jerusalem. How are your Hearts today? Ours are pretty well. I hope your tour was bright, and gladdened Mrs Bowles. Perhaps the Retrospect will call you back some morning. You shall find us all at the gate, if you come in a hundred years, just as we stood that day.
I rode with Austin this morning. He showed me mountains that touched the sky, and brooks that sang like Bobolinks. Was he not very kind? I will give them to you, for they are mine and "all things are mine" excepting "Cephas and Apollos," for whom I have no taste. Mi piacerebbe avervi qui per un po'. Stasera sembra come "Gerusalemme". Spero che ci si possa comportare tutti in modo da arrivare a Gerusalemme. Come va il vostro Umore oggi? Il nostro va abbastanza bene. Spero che il vostro giro sia stato brillante, e abbia rallegrato Mrs Bowles.
Ci troverete tutti all'ingresso, se verrete entro un centinaio d'anni, proprio come stavamo quel giorno. Stamattina sono andata in giro con Austin. Mi ha mostrato montagne che toccano il cielo, e ruscelli che cantano come Bobolink. For all things are yours; Whether Paul, or Apollos, or Cephas, or the world, or life, or death, or things present, or things to come; all are yours;". Friday night Much has occurred, dear Uncle, since my writing you - so much - that I stagger as I write, in its sharp remembrance. Summers of bloom - and months of frost, and days of jingling bells, yet all the while this hand upon our fireside.
I cannot always see the light - please tell me if it shines. I hope you are well, these many days, and have much joy. There is a smiling summer here, which causes birds to sing, and sets the bees in motion. Strange blooms arise on many stalks, and trees receive their tenants. I would you saw what I can see, and imbibed this music.
The day went down, long time ago, and still a simple choir bear the canto on. I dont know who it is, that sings, nor did I, would I tell! God gives us many cups. Perhaps you will come to Amherst, before the wassail's done. Our man has mown today, and as he plied his scythe, I thought of other mowings, and garners far from here.
I wonder how long we shall wonder; how early we shall know. A blossom from his tree. I find them very thoughtful friends, and love them much. It seems very pleasant that other ones will so soon be near. We formed Aunt Kate's acquaintance, for the first - last spring, and had a few sweet hours, as do new found girls. I meet some octogenarians - but men and women seldomer, and at longer intervals - "little children," of whom is the "Kingdom of Heaven. I hardly know what I have said - my words put all their feathers on - and fluttered here and there.
Please give my warmest love to my aunts and cousins - and write me, should you please, some summer's evening. Estati di fioriture - e mesi di gelo, e giorni di campanelle tintinnanti, ma per tutto il tempo questa mano sul focolare. Non riesco sempre a vedere la luce - dimmelo tu se brilla. Spero che tu sia stato bene, in tutti questi giorni, e in allegria. Strani germogli crescono su molti steli, e gli alberi accolgono i loro inquilini. Vorrei che tu vedessi quello che vedo io, e t'imbevessi di questa musica. Non so chi sia, a cantare, e se lo sapessi , non lo direi! Forse verrai ad Amherst, prima che sia finito il brindisi.
Il nostro lavorante oggi ha falciato, e mentre maneggiava la falce, pensavo ad atre falciature, e a granai lontani da qui. Mi chiedo per quanto tempo chiederemo, fra quanto sapremo.
Un fiore dalla sua pianta. Li considero amici molto premurosi, e sono molto affezionata a loro. Abbiamo consolidato la conoscenza di Zia Kate, per la prima volta - la scorsa estate, e abbiamo trascorso dolcemente alcune ore, come fanno fanciulle che si ritrovano. I have sent to Northampton, but cannot get them there, and they are missing just now, from the College Library.
I thank you very much, should you have them, if you will please lend them to me - for tho' the hours are very full, I think I might snatch here and there a moment, if I had the books. I hope you are happy this summer day, tho' I know you are lonely. I do not go out at all, lest father will come and miss me, or miss some little act, which I might forget, should I run away - Mother is much as usual.
I know not what to hope of her. Please remember Vinnie and I, for we are perplexed often - Affy - Emilie -. Ho mandato a chiedere a Northampton, ma non sono riuscita a procurarmeli, e in questo momento non ci sono nella Biblioteca del College. Non esco mai, per paura che il babbo torni e non mi trovi, o gli manchi qualcosa, che potrei dimenticare, se dovessi uscire di corsa - La mamma sta come sempre. Non so che cosa augurarmi per lei.
La sua assenza era probabilmente dovuta a un viaggio a Chicago per preparare il suo trasferimento. Good night, dear Mrs Haven! I am glad I did not know you better, since it would then have grieved me more that you went away. Some summer-afternoon, I thought - we might be acquainted, but summer afternoons to me have had so many wings, and meanwhile, you have flown! Thank you for recollecting me in the sweet moss - which your memory, I have lain in a little box, unto the Resurrection.
I hoped to see your face again - hoped to see Mr Haven, and the little girls. Though I met you little, I shall miss you all - Your going will redden the maple - and fringe the Gentian sooner, in the soft fields. Permit us to keep you in our hearts, although you seem to outward eye, to be travelling from us! That is the sweet prerogative of the left behind.
I know you will come again - if not today - tomorrow - if not tomorrow as we count - after the little interval we pass in lifetime here. Then we wont say "Goodbye," since immortality - makes the phrase quite obsolete. Good night is long eno', I bid it smiling! Buona notte, cara Mrs Haven! La ringrazio per ricordarsi di me nel dolce muschio - che in ricordo di lei, ho messo in una scatoletta, fino alla Resurrezione. Speravo di rivedere il suo volto - speravo di rivedere Mr Haven, e le bambine. Permetteteci di custodirvi nei nostri cuori, anche se a un occhio esterno sembra che vi siate allontanati da noi!
So che tornerete - se non oggi - domani - se non domani come ci auguriamo - dopo il piccolo intervallo che passeremo in questa vita mortale. Amherst Dear Mr Bowles. I got the little pamphlet. I think you sent it to me, though unfamiliar with your hand - I may mistake. Thank you if I am right. Thank you, if not, since here I find bright pretext to ask you how you are tonight, and for the health of four more, Elder and Minor "Mary," Sallie and Sam, tenderly to inquire.
I hope your vintage is untouched. In such a porcelain life, one likes to be sure that all is well, lest one stumble upon one's hopes in a pile of broken crockery. My friends are my "estate. They tell me those were poor early, have different views of gold. I dont know how that is.
God is not so wary as we, else he would give us no friends, lest we forget him! The charms of the Heaven in the bush are superceded I fear, by the Heaven in the hand, occasionally. Nobody noticed her - that is, no men and women. Doubtless, the fields are rent by petite anguish, and "mourners go about" the Woods. Business enough indeed, our stately Resurrection! A special Courtesy, I judge, from what the Clergy say! To the "natural man," Bumblebees would seem an improvement, and a spicing of Birds, but far be it from me, to impugn such majestic tastes.
Our Pastor says we are a "Worm. Do you think we shall "see God"? Think of "Abraham" strolling with him in genial promenade! The men are mowing the second Hay. The cocks are smaller than the first, and spicier.
Susan Spencer Wendel
I would distil a cup - and bear to all my friends, drinking to her no more astir, by beck, or burn, or moor! This is what they say who come back in the morning, also the closing paragraph on repealed lips. Confidence in Daybreak modifies Dusk. Blessings for Mrs Bowles, and kisses for the bairns' lips.
We want to see you, Mr Bowles, but spare you the rehearsal of "familiar truths. Amherst Caro Mr Bowles. Ho ricevuto il libretto. Grazie se ho ragione. Spero che la vendemmia sia integra. In una tale vita di porcellana, fa piacere essere certi che tutto vada bene, per paura di inciampare nelle proprie speranze in un ammasso di vasellame rotto. I miei amici sono il mio "patrimonio". Si dice che quelli che un giorno erano poveri, guardano all'oro con un punto di vista diverso. Non so come succede.
Senza dubbio, i campi sono lacerati da una sottile angoscia, e "i dolenti si aggirano" per i Boschi. Impegno sufficiente invero, la nostra solenne Resurrezione! Una Cortesia particolare, a giudicare da quel che dice il Clero! Il nostro Pastore dice che siamo un "Verme". Lei pensa che "vedremo Dio"? Pensi ad "Abramo" che gironzola con lui durante una gioviale passeggiata! Gli uomini stanno falciando il secondo fieno. La fiducia nell'Alba modifica l'Imbrunire. Auguri a Mrs Bowles, e baci per le labbra dei bambini. Was informed to that effect today by a "dear pastor.