Она так просто отошла...
Последний вздох истек,
И к солнцу, взяв простой багаж,
Ступила за порог.
Должно быть, Ангел углядел
Фигурку у дверей,
И мне ее не отыскать
С тех пор среди людей.
***
Emily Dickinson
150
She died—this was the way she died.
And when her breath was done
Took up her simple wardrobe
And started for the sun.
Her little figure at the gate
The Angels must have spied,
Since I could never find her
Upon the mortal side.