Emily Dickinson - A precious-mouldering pleasure | Текст песни

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• Emily Dickinson
• A precious-mouldering pleasure

A precious-mouldering pleasure-'tis-
To meet an Antique Book-
In just the Dress his Century wore-
A privilege-I think-
His venerable Hand to take-
And warming in our own-
A passage back-or two-to make-
To Times when he-was young-
His quaint opinions-to inspect-
His thought to ascertain
On Themes concern our mutual mind-
The Literature of Man-
What interested Scholars-most-
What Competitions ran-
When Plato-was a Certainty-
And Sophocles-a Man-
When Sappho-was a living Girl-
And Beatrice wore
The Gown that Dante-deified-
Facts Centuries before
He traverses-familiar-
As One should come to Town-
And tell you all your Dreams-were true-
He lived-where Dreams were born-
His presence is Enchantment-
You beg him not to go-
Old Volume shake their Vellum Heads
And tantalize-just so

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