Poesie di Emily Dickinson

The nearest Dream recedes-unrealized-
The Heaven we chase,
Like the June Bee- before the School Boy,
Invites the Race-
Stoops- to an easy Clover-
Dips- evades-teases- deploys-
Then- to the Royal Clouds
Lifts his light Pinnace-
Heedless of the Boy-
Staring- bewildered- at the mocking sky-
Homesick for steadfast Honey-
Ah, the Bee flies not
That brews that rare variety!

Bee! I'm expecting you!
Was saying Yesterday
To Somebody you know
That you were due-

The Frogs got Home last Week-
Are settled, and at work-
Birds, mostly back-
The Clover warm and thick-

You'll get my Letter by
The seventeenth;Reply
Or better, be with me-
Yours, Fly.

Bees are Black, with Gilt Surcingles-
Buccaneers of Buzz.
Ride abroad in ostentation
And subsist on Fuzz.

Fuzz ordained-not Fuzz contingent-
Marrows of the Hill.
Jugs- a Universe's fracture
Could not jar or spill.

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee,
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.

*** Si ringraziano anticipatamente quanti (appassionati, apicoltori, associazioni, ..)
vorranno arricchire questa sezione segnalando altri brani.