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classiccaitlin's review against another edition
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
4.5
What a poet 🩷 Here are some of my favourite poems from this collection:
- Hope is the thing with feathers
- If you were coming in the fall
- There's a certain slant of light
- The grass so little has to do
- How happy is the little stone
- Because I could not stop for death
- I felt a funeral in my brain
cifose's review against another edition
4.0
I can wade grief,
Whole pools of it,—
I'm used to that.
But the least push of joy
Breaks up my feet,
And I tip — drunken.
Whole pools of it,—
I'm used to that.
But the least push of joy
Breaks up my feet,
And I tip — drunken.
mindthebook's review against another edition
4.0
En somrig samling för den som vill försjunka i Dickinsons dikter. Låt oss inte glömma att endast sju av dem blev publicerade under hennes livstid. Ca 1700 postumt! Kan fortfarande höra vår amerikanske gästprofessor på 90-talet orera om Thoreau, Whitman och Dickinson,"the moooooth of Amherst". Det gjorde han rätt i. Återkommer till alla tre med jämna mellanrum och har ju till och med vallfärdat till Walden Pond.
Min Wordsworthutgåva ser lite annorlunda ut (se insta eller Etsy-shoppen), mintgrön med en Edward Hopper-målning på omslaget. Finner här både bekanta rader och nya favoriter. Ett urval:
Inebriate of air am I
Be debonair! Be debonair!
Ah! the sea!
Might I but moor
Tonight in thee!
Not knowing when the dawn will come
I open every door
The soul selects her own society
Frequently the woods are pink
Were they pearls,
What necklaces could be! (om daggdroppar)
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away
Have you got a brook in your little heart
Where bashful flowers blow
Min Wordsworthutgåva ser lite annorlunda ut (se insta eller Etsy-shoppen), mintgrön med en Edward Hopper-målning på omslaget. Finner här både bekanta rader och nya favoriter. Ett urval:
Inebriate of air am I
Be debonair! Be debonair!
Ah! the sea!
Might I but moor
Tonight in thee!
Not knowing when the dawn will come
I open every door
The soul selects her own society
Frequently the woods are pink
Were they pearls,
What necklaces could be! (om daggdroppar)
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away
Have you got a brook in your little heart
Where bashful flowers blow