A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period —
When March is scarcely here
A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.
It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.
Then as Horizons step
Or Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay —
A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament.
adropofinspiration 
M-a furat atâta melodia ei, că nu simt nevoia să mai caut înțelesul celor cîteva cuvinte necunoscute 🙂 Ideea am prins-o oricum.
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Au americanii cativa poeti care rup. Ea e unul dintre ei, dupa parerea mea.
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Și nenea Poe 🙂
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Si Poe, si Whitman, si Emerson… Sunt destui!
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Am găsit doar 2 poezii de Emerson traduse pe net, care nu m-au prea topit. Pare amplu, ca poet, dar două e prea puțin. Dacă dai de vreo sursă mai serioasă în tomână, zi-mi și mie, te rog. Nu-i știam decît numele 🙂
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Nu prea sunt traduceri de-ale lui, am vazut si eu. Daca dau de ele, te anunt. 🙂
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Cum zice Issa, are o melodiciate aparte.
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Are, fara doar si poate. Si stilul ei deosebit.
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Mie îmi place foarte mult Gabriela Marie Milton!
Scrie într-un fel anume:
“didn’t you know
that when you said I love you
you stepped on roads of fables and folk tales?
you glued your heart onto a purple sunset
smells of lilac and of roses, impregnated strolls,
seduction,
it wasn’t me
it was you who stole his soul”
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Foarte frumos, Aura! N-am citit pana acum versurile ei, o sa le caut, multumesc! ❤
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