I breathed enough to take the Trick— And now, removed from Air— I simulate the Breath, so well— That One, to be quite sure— The Lungs are stirless—must descend Among the Cunning Cells— And touch the Pantomine—Himself, How numb, the Bellows feels!
Peacock Presumes to Die!
Song Cycle by Michael Ippolito (b. 1985)
for solo voice
1.
Language: English
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886)
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Researcher for this page: Malcolm Wren [Guest Editor]2.
Language: English
This is the land the sunset washes, These are the banks of the yellow sea; Where it rose, or whither it rushes, These are the western mystery! Night after night her purple traffic Strews the landing with opal bales; Merchantmen poise upon horizons, Dip, and vanish like Orioles.
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems of Emily Dickinson, first published 1890
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Research team for this page: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Malcolm Wren [Guest Editor]3.
Language: English
How soft a Caterpillar steps — I find one on my Hand From such a Velvet world it comes Such plushes at command Its soundless travels just arrest My slow — terrestrial eye Intent upon its own career What use has it for me —
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) (Sharon Krebs) , "Die Raupe", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Note: Two misprints have been corrected: Line 5, word 1 (formerly "It's"), and Line 7, word 2 (formerly "opon").
Research team for this page: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Malcolm Wren [Guest Editor] , Sharon Krebs [Guest Editor]4.
Language: English
I reason, Earth is short — And Anguish — absolute — And many hurt, But, what of that? I reason, we could die — The best Vitality Cannot excel Decay, But, what of that? I reason, that in Heaven — Somehow, it will be even — Some new Equation, given — But, what of that?
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems of Emily Dickinson, first published 1890
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Research team for this page: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Eric Saroian5.
Language: English
To die — takes just a little while — They say it doesn't hurt — It's only fainter — by degrees — And then — it's out of sight — A darker Ribbon — for a Day — A Crape upon the Hat — And then the pretty sunshine comes — And helps us to forget — The absent — mystic — creature — That but for love of us — Had gone to sleep — that soundest time — Without the weariness —
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886)
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Research team for this page: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Malcolm Wren [Guest Editor]Total word count: 274