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10 février 2015 2 10 /02 /février /2015 15:24


I meant to find her when I came;

Death had the same design;

But the success was his, it seems,

And the discomfit mine.

I meant to tell her how I longed

For just this single time;

But Death had told her so the first,

And she had hearkened him.

To wander now is my abode;

To rest,—to rest would be

A privilege of hurricane

To memory and me.

Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems , Part Four: Time and Eternity. 1924.

"You know I didn't know I loved her 'til they damn laid her down"

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