Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (Эмили Дикинсон)
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Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat? Then crouch within the door — Red — is the Fire’s common tint — But when the vivid Ore Has vanquished Flame’s conditions, It quivers from the Forge Without a color, but the light Of unanointed Blaze. Least Village has its Blacksmith Whose Anvil’s even ring Stands symbol for the finer Forge That soundless tugs — within — Refining these impatient Ores With Hammer, and with Blaze Until the Designated Light Repudiate the Forge –
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson’s other poems:
