jeudi 10 décembre 2009


If I may have it when it's dead
I will contented be;
If just as soon as breath is out
It shall belong to me,

Until they lock it in the grave,
'Tis bliss I cannot weigh,
For though they lock thee in the grave,
Myself can hold the key.

Think of it, lover ! I and thee
Permitted face to face to be;
After a life, a death we'll say, -
For death was that, and this is thee.

Emily DICKINSON, Selected Poems and Letters (edited by Robert N. Linscott, New York, Doubleday, 1959)

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