12 mars 2005
Ma poétesse vénérée
NATURE, the gentlest mother, | |
Impatient of no child, | |
The feeblest or the waywardest,— | |
Her admonition mild | |
In forest and the hill | 5 |
By traveller is heard, | |
Restraining rampant squirrel | |
Or too impetuous bird. | |
How fair her conversation, | |
A summer afternoon,— | 10 |
Her household, her assembly; | |
And when the sun goes down | |
Her voice among the aisles | |
Incites the timid prayer | |
Of the minutest cricket, | 15 |
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, | 20 |
With infinite affection | |
And infiniter care, | |
Her golden finger on her lip, | |
Wills silence everywhere. Emily Dickinson |
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