Nature, the gentlest mother Impatient of no child, The feeblest or the waywardest, - Her admonition mild In forest and the hill By traveller is heard, Restraining rampant squirrel Or too impetuous bird. How fair her conversation, A summer afternoon, - Her household, her assembly; And when the sun goes down Her voice among the aisles Incites the timid prayer Of the minutest cricket, The most unworthy flower. When all the children sleep She turns as long away As will suffice to light her lamps; Then, bending from the sky, With infinite affection And infiniter care, Her golden finger on her lip, Wills silence everywhere.
Twelve Poems of Emily Dickinson
Song Cycle by Aaron Copland (1900 - 1990)
Translated to:
French (Français) — Douze poèmes d'Emily Dickinson (Guy Laffaille)
Italian (Italiano) — Dodici poesie di Emily Dickinson (Ferdinando Albeggiani)
German (Deutsch) — Zwölf Gedichte von Emily Dickinson (Bertram Kottmann)
Catalan (Català) — Dotze poemes d’Emily Dickinson (Salvador Pila)
1. Nature, the gentlest mother
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1891
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "Natura, la mare més gentil ", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Nature, mère la plus gentille", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2013, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
2. There came a wind like a bugle
There came a wind like a bugle, It quivered through the grass, And a green chill upon the heat So ominous did pass We barred the windows and the doors As from an emerald ghost The doom's electric moccasin That very instant passed. On a strange mob of panting trees, And fences fled away, And rivers where the houses ran The living looked that day, The bell within the steeple wild, The flying tidings whirled. How much can come and much can go, And yet abide the world!
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1891
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "Vingué un vent com un clarí", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Alors vint un vent comme un clairon", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
3. Why do they shut me out of Heaven?
Why -- do they shut me out of Heaven? Did I sing -- too loud? But -- I can sing a little minor, Timid as a bird. Wouldn't the angels try me -- just -- once -- more -- Just -- see -- if I troubled them -- But don't -- shut the door! Oh if I -- were the Gentlemen in the White Robes and they -- were the little Hand -- that knocked -- Could -- I -- forbid? Why do they shut me out of Heaven? Did I sing too loud?
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Further poems of Emily Dickinson, first published 1929
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "Per què m’han tancat les portes del cel?", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Pourquoi m'ont-ils fermé la porte du ciel", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
4. The world feels dusty
The world feels dusty, when we stop to die... We want the dew then Honors taste dry... Flags vex a dying face But the least fan stirred by a friend's hand Cools like the rain Mine be the ministry when thy thirst comes... Dews of thyself to fetch and holy balms.
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Further poems of Emily Dickinson
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "El món té gust de pols", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- CHI Chinese (中文) (Yen-Chiang Che) , "這世界感到灰黯", copyright © 2009, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Le monde se sent poussiéreux", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
This version was published many times, including in the Atlantic Monthly (Volume 143, 1929), before the more authoritative versions came out with the more characteristic punctuation. There are also a few changes to the words in the last stanza. See below.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]5. Heart, we will forget him
Heart, we will forget him You and I, tonight. You may forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light. When you have done, pray tell me, That I my thoughts may dim; Haste! lest while you're lagging, I may remember him!
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1896
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "Cor, l’oblidarem", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Mon cœur, nous l'oublierons", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
6. Dear March, come in!
Dear March, come in! How glad I am! I looked for you before. Put down your hat - You must have walked - How out of breath you are! Dear March, how are you? And the rest? Did you leave Nature well? Oh, March, come right upstairs with me, I have so much to tell! I got your letter, and the bird's; The maples never knew That you were coming, - I declare, How red their faces grew! But, March, forgive me - And all those hills You left for me to hue, There was no purple suitable, You took it all with you. Who knocks? that April? Lock the door! I will not be pursued! He stayed away a year, to call When I am occupied. But trifles look so trivial As soon as you have come, And blame is just as dear as praise And praise as mere as blame.
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1896
Go to the general single-text view
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "Març estimat, entra!", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Cher Mars, entre!", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
7. Sleep is supposed to be
Sleep is supposed to be, By souls of sanity, The shutting of the eye. Sleep is the station grand Down which on either hand The hosts of witness stand! Morn is supposed to be, By people of degree, The breaking of the day. Morning has not occurred! That shall aurora be East of Eternity; One with the banner gay, One in the red array, - That is the break of day.
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems of Emily Dickinson, first published 1890
Go to the general single-text view
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "La son se suposa que és", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Le sommeil est supposé être", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
8. When they come back
When they come back -- if Blossoms do -- I always feel a doubt If Blossoms can be born again When once the Art is out -- When they begin, if Robins do, I always had a fear I did not tell, it was their last Experiment Last Year, When it is May, if May return, Has nobody a pang Lest on a Face so beautiful We might not look again? If I am there -- One does not know What Party -- One may be Tomorrow, but if I am there I take back all I say --
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Further poems of Emily Dickinson
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "Quan elles retornin", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Quand elles reviennent, si les fleurs reviennent", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
9. I felt a funeral in my brain
I felt a funeral in my brain,
And mourners to and fro,
Kept treading, treading, till it seemed
That sense was breaking through.
And when they all were seated
A service like a drum
Kept beating, beating, till I thought
My mind was going numb.
And then I heard them lift a box,
And creak across my soul
With those same boots of lead, again.
Then space began to toll
As all the heavens were a bell,
And Being but an ear,
And I and silence some strange race,
Wrecked, solitary, here.
...
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1896
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "Vaig sentir un funeral al meu cap", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "J'ai senti un enterrement dans ma tête", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Walter A. Aue) , copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
10. I've heard an organ talk sometimes
I've heard an organ talk sometimes In a cathedral aisle And understood no word it said Yet held my breath the while... And risen up and gone away, A more Bernardine girl And know not what was done to me In that old hallowed aisle.
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Unpublished poems of Emily Dickinson
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "De vegades he sentit un orgue parlar", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "J'ai entendu parfois un orgue parler", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
11. Going to Heaven!
Going to Heaven! I don't know when, Pray do not ask me how, - Indeed I'm too astonished To think of answering you! Going to Heaven! - How dim it sounds! And yet it will be done As sure as flocks go home at night Unto the shepherd's arm! Perhaps you're going too! Who knows? If you should get there first Save just a little place for me Close to the two I lost! The smallest "robe" will fit me, And just a bit of "crown"; For you know we do not mind our dress When we are going home. Going to Heaven! I'm glad I don't believe it For it would stop my breath, And I'd like to look a little more At such a curious earth! I am glad they did believe it Whom I have never found Since the mighty autumn afternoon I left them in the ground.
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1891
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "Me’n vaig al cel!", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Je monte au ciel !", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
12. The chariot
Because I would not stop for Death -- He kindly stopped for me -- The carriage held but just ourselves -- and Immortality. We slowly drove -- he knew no haste, And I had put away My labour, and my leisure too For His Civility -- We passed the school, where children played, Their lessons scarcely done We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun. We paused before a house that seemed a swelling of the ground; The roof was scarcely visible, The cornice but a mound. Since then 'tis centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses' heads Were toward eternity.
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems of Emily Dickinson, first published 1890
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "La voiture", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Walter A. Aue) , copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , "La carrozza", copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission